Bound by Darkness, Freed by Light — Book I: War
by Draic Kin of the Balance
Summary: It's been a year since Alan conquered the Dark Presence. All is seemingly well in Bright Falls, until strange occurrences begin to make Alan's friends and allies question whether or not the Dark Presence was truly defeated. Sam and Dean Winchester receive word of these events, and soon find themselves in the midst of a war much bigger than they ever could've imagined.
1. Prologue

**War**

**By CasterChroniclesLover**

* * *

"_When I thought that I fought this war alone_

_You were there by my side on the frontline_

_When I thought that I fought without a cause_

_You gave me a reason to try_

_Turn the page I need to see something new_

_For now my innocence is torn_

_We cannot linger on this stunted view_

_Like rabid dogs of war_

_I will let the memory heal_

_I will remember you with me on that field_

_When I thought that I fought this war alone_

_You were there by my side on the frontline_

_And we fought to believe the impossible _

_When I thought that I fought this war alone_

_We were one with our destinies entwined_

_When I thought that I fought without a cause_

_You gave me the reason why_." –Poets of the Fall, _War_

* * *

**September 15, 2012**

Alice felt the chains of the dark presence release her. She pushed herself forward, slowly swimming upwards. Her body and mind were completely and utterly numb from shock from everything that'd happened. She and Alan had gone to Bright Falls for a vacation—perhaps another honeymoon. It was supposed to help them build on their marriage, but instead, it'd become a living nightmare. Not because of her husband's inner demons, but…

_No…no. _Alice didn't want to think about it. It was over now…wasn't it? She wasn't stupid; she knew something had happened—Alan had done something—to defeat the darkness that had taken her. It had to have been Alan. She knew that while her husband had his flaws, he loved her with a burning passion. His fans and everyone who knew him often said that he loved her more than a man should love his wife. These thoughts were running through Alice's mind when she rose from the waters, gasping and spluttering. The air was cool—not too warm, not too cold—but she barely paid any mind as she slowly made her way to the shore. She collapsed onto her hands and knees on the pier, coughing violently and heaving. Water spewed out from her mouth, and the cold caressed her body, enveloping her.

"Alan?" Alice cried. "Alan? Alan!" _Where are you? _She wanted to scream, but she was drained. For so long, she'd been trapped in the dark in the depths of Cauldron Lake, her only company being the elderly woman who claimed to be Barbara Jagger. She had been terrorized by this woman as she trapped her in perpetual darkness. It had been a mistake to come here to Bright Falls; she knew that now.

There was the sound of a car's engine, startling Alice out of her thoughts. It was the sheriff. "Excuse me, Sheriff?" she called out. "Sheriff?"

"Yes. Sheriff Sarah Breaker; what happened? What were you doing out in the lake?" Alice could have sworn she saw something in Breaker's eyes that said she suspected her predicament, but she wasn't entirely certain.

"I…I—" Alice could barely form the words. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I…"

"What is your name?" Breaker pressed.

"Alice. Alice Wake."


	2. Dreams

**Present Day—April 17, 2013**

"Okay, that's a wrap, guys!" Barry Wheeler exclaimed. "I'll see you tomorrow so we can finish up this album." He beamed at the brothers as they made their way out of the studio. They were a band known as the Old Gods of Asgard, and they certainly lived up to their name. Tor, Odin and Loki had formed the band in the early 1970s, and they were making their comeback. They'd be back and better than ever once the album was released and were touring the world again, but despite his excitement, Barry felt a sense of sadness. Last September, Alan Wake had gone on a suicide mission to save his wife Alice. The last time he'd seen his best friend was right before his departure as they'd said goodbye. As far as he knew, he was dead. The only way Barry knew he had saved Alice was that, more than a week later, Alice had suddenly resurfaced from Cauldron Lake. Sheriff Breaker had discovered her there. Not too long afterwards, Alan had been declared missing and, after a few months, dead. Alice had been an emotional wreck during those months, and she still mourned for Alan. She never remarried nor had an affair with another man; Barry still remembered what she'd said to him when he had tried to convince her to let him go.

_The day I let go of my husband is the day darkness takes everything away from me, _she'd shouted at him before breaking down in tears. He'd been at a loss to help her, but he knew that it was for her own good that she didn't know the truth behind Alan's disappearance. Barry made his way out of the studio, switching off the lights and locking the door behind him. _Where are you, Al? _He shook his head, banishing these thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to think about what'd happened to Alan no more than he wanted to talk about it with Alice. She had berated him for letting his novel _Departure _be published after he'd been declared missing by the authorities, but Barry had been just as perplexed as she was until, after asking a few questions to the publisher, it'd been discovered that someone had discovered _Departure_'s manuscript and turned it in.

_Dammit, Barry, stop thinking about it. _He hopped into his truck, sparked the engine and drove. _I need a coffee—or a beer. _Barry made his way to the Oh Deer Diner, and he parked his vehicle in the first available parking space he could find before walking up to the entrance. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a _Missing _poster taped to one of the light posts. Curious, he approached the poster and ripped it off the post, examining it. A man had vanished in the middle of the night the week before. Barry didn't know what to think of it. Last year, he and Alan had fought what he'd frequently called the Dark Presence. The Dark Presence had almost entirely destroyed Bright Falls; it would have destroyed the world had it not been for Alan. It had invaded the citizens of Bright Falls, turning them into mindless puppets with the only purpose to serve and fight and kill. Perhaps the guy who had gone missing had been taken, not by some lunatic but by the Dark Presence. No, no, that couldn't be it. The Dark Presence had been vanquished when Alan had gone back to Cauldron Lake to write the ending to _Departure_. It was gone, and it wasn't coming back.

"Guys vanishing in the dead of night—can't believe how long this has been going on," Barry heard someone mutter under their breath. He whirled around.

"Um, what?" he asked.

The young man turned to face him, an unnerved expression on his face. "You haven't heard? The whole town's been buzzing about it." Barry wracked his memory, trying to recall any mentions of people going missing in the middle of the night before today. Nothing came to him.

"No…why? What the hell is going on?" he pressed.

"For the past week, people have been going missing in the middle of the night. Cops have nothing to go on, and it's freaking the shit out of people." Barry's mind was reeling when he made himself turn away and walk into the diner. The diner was barely occupied, save for a few customers and…

_Sheriff Breaker? _Barry strode over to Sarah; she shifted in her seat to face him. "Sheriff, I didn't expect to see you here."

"It's nice to see you again, Wheeler," she said warmly.

"Any luck on those missing persons cases?" he queried, sitting next to her. She shook her head and sighed.

"No. If it wasn't for what happened last year, I would think that we're dealing with some serial killer," Sarah responded. She was still shaken from the Dark Presence's attack on the town, Barry could see.

"…You think the…the darkness has somehow resurfaced?" Barry didn't want to believe it, but now that Sarah had brought it up, it was highly plausible that the Dark Presence had come back. However, they knew nothing for certain. They were just theorizing and hoping for the best.

"What else could it be, Wheeler?"

"We don't—look, we dealt with some pretty crazy shit last year but we don't really know anything yet. It just may be some psycho killer, not the darkness," he said. _Best be rational about this and not jump to conclusions. _

"I hope you're right—for the sake of all of us," Sarah said, "otherwise, if it _has _come back, this town may not live this time."

* * *

**Men-of-Letters base, Kansas**

Sam was lost. Darkness engulfed everything surrounding him, but it was not the black of night that entrapped him. The darkness was a thick haze of black smoke and dark shadows, almost looking like the smoky form demons took when they weren't in their host. He couldn't recognize the world anymore. He wasn't sure _where _he was; all he knew was that he was lost.

"Dean?" he shouted out. "Dean? Dean!" Dean wasn't there in this…dimension, whatever the hell it was, and Sam knew it. He was alone. Truly alone, and defenseless against the dark presence that encircled him. There was suddenly a great, blinding flash of light coming from the black sky and Sam looked up, shielding his eyes. _What the hell? _

_Follow the light_, a voice said. Sam didn't know where it'd come from, but it'd manifested both in his head as it'd been said aloud. The light moved, quickly but not too slowly. Sam followed it slowly, trying to make sense of it all. What was going on? What was the darkness? What was the light that was beckoning him? And _why was this happening_? His heart was hammering in his chest. "What are you?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

_I am here to help you and your brother end what needs to be finished, _the light responded. _There must be a balance. _

"A balance? I-I don't understand!"

_For he did not know, that beyond the lake he called home,_

_There lies a deeper, and darker ocean green._

_Where waves are both wilder and serene._

_To its ports I've been,_

_To its ports I've been. _

"I don't…what?" Sam was stammering in complete and utter confusion. "I don't understand. What are you trying to tell me?"

_It will all fall together soon, Samuel Winchester. Now, it is time you wake up. _

Sam's eyes shot open as he jolted upright. He quickly looked around, taking in his surroundings. _It was just a dream, Sam. Nothing more, nothing less. _He was in the familiar haven that was his bedroom, not trapped by a dark presence. The aroma of pancakes from the kitchen sneaked in from behind the door; Dean was awake and making breakfast. He looked at the alarm clock sitting beside him. _10:50 AM. _

"Sam, breakfast is ready!" Dean called. Quickly, Sam showered and got dressed before making his way to the kitchen. Dean handed him his plate, but something made him stop in his tracks.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, cutting to the chase. "You look pretty shaken up." His voice gained a worried edge to it. "You haven't been…you know…?" Dean didn't have to say it; they both knew what he was referring to. Ever since the first trial—the first of three which would result in the shutting of the gates of Hell forever—Sam had been showing symptoms of being very ill, possibly lethally. He had been coughing up blood, almost as if he had tuberculosis, and it scared the hell out of him. Dean was concerned for his brother's health; hell, he had intended to go through with the trials, but Sam knew this was because he'd had a death wish. Now, Dean had been more adamant about doing the trials. Sam's refusal to let him do them was unwavering. He had recently completed the second trial: freeing an innocent soul—that of their surrogate father, Bobby Singer—from Hell, and Dean's worry was only growing more and more as time passed.

"Dean, I'm fine. Really," said Sam. It wasn't entirely a lie; he wasn't drowning in his own blood, but he _was _shaken over his dream. He made his way over to the table and began to eat his meal, cutting his pancakes into halves. "I…I just had this weird-ass dream, even by our standards. Not clowns, not midgets."

His elder brother tensed. "Are you having visions again? I thought those ended after we killed Yellow-Eyes." Sam shook his head.

"No, it wasn't like that. It wasn't prophetic," he went on. As soon as those words left his mouth, he wasn't so sure. It hadn't been a vision of the future, like the premonitions he'd had long before the death of Azazel, but it'd been almost like a warning. No, that wasn't it. It wasn't a warning. "I…I don't even know what it was, to be honest." Dean put his dirty plate in the dishwasher and strode over to his younger brother.

"Sammy," he began. "Cass said you were damaged in ways even he couldn't heal. Even if you don't really understand what you dream was, you need to be straight with me."

"It might've had something to do with the third trial, Dean," Sam said. "I'm not sure. I don't have anything to go on, except…"

"Except what?" his brother pressed him, an urgency in his voice. "Tell me."

"This…light presence told me that he was here to help us end what needs to be finished," he continued.

Dean nodded slowly, deep in thought. "Light presence. You think this may have been a message from Heaven? From Cass, maybe?"

"No. Whatever it was, it was not from Heaven. Not from Hell either." Sam shrugged, and sighed. "Any luck with the research?"

"Nope. Nothing," he responded. "At this point, I'm beginning to think the only way we can find out what the third trial is is if Kevin translates the tablet, and he's gone off the grid." He grabbed his laptop from the couch and popped it open, returning to his seat.

_So has Cass, _Sam almost added, but didn't. Castiel was in possession of the tablet; he had fled from the Winchesters after being forced to kill Dean by an angel of higher power, Naomi. He hadn't gone through with it, but he believed it was best he left them for their own safety.

"Okay, get this: For the past week or so, people have been vanishing in the dead of night. No sign of a struggle or anything, followed by another victim being bludgeoned to death," Dean said, scanning an article on the news. He turned his computer towards Sam. Sam read the article, and Dean turned the computer back towards himself. "Sounds like something worth checking out, maybe?"

Sam nodded. "Looks like we're headed to Bright Falls."

* * *

"After this, Sam, we really need to focus on the third trial," Dean told Sam. They were on the ferry, sitting on the Impala, the sights of the idyllic town of Bright Falls before them. "We gank this sonuvabitch and leave."

"Okay, okay," his younger brother agreed, and paused. It dawned on him then. "Dean, you've been on edge ever since I told you about my dream. Is something bothering you?" Dean sighed, meeting his eyes. He couldn't lie to him. Yes, they'd gone through some difficult times where one lied to the other but now, it was unmistakable how much Dean needed honesty, how tired he was of lies.

"Yeah," he said, taking a slow, deep breath. "The thing is, I had the _exact _same dream as you last night."

"Being trapped by darkness and a light shows up, telling you that it's here to help you and your brother end what needs to be finished before reciting this poem about lakes and oceans and ports? The exact same thing?" Sam was reeling, as was his brother.

Dean nodded. "I don't know what this means, but for now, I say we just drop it and focus on the case. Go around town and ask people about the people going missing."

"Okay," Sam said in agreement. Dean took a sip of his coffee, drinking in the sights and smells and sounds of Bright Falls. The town was much bigger than the other towns they'd visited; it seemed wrong to label it as a small town, almost. The air smelled of home and peace, which struck him as odd. Prior to finding the Batcave, the base of the Men-of-Letters, he and Sam had never known a home. They'd constantly been on the road, checking into crappy motels. There had never been a place where they could go back to. It'd been like this for the majority of their lives. The idea of a home was almost a foreign concept to him—to Sam—but they'd yearned for it for as long as they could remember. Perhaps it was the nostalgia that had stirred these feelings within him. He wasn't entirely sure.

As Dean and Sam's ferry reached the dock, somewhere deep within the depths of Cauldron Lake, the Dark Presence stirred, trying to break through the surface. The FBI agent was nothing more than a host to blend in with the humans; the skin was uncomfortable and frail and weak, nothing more than blood and bones. It needed something—a writer, a piece of work—for its influence to reach the world. The writer had found a way to weaken the darkness by destroying its human host, but what he didn't realize was that darkness was omnipresent. It was always there, lurking. And it was waiting.


	3. Welcome to Bright Falls

Dean sparked the engine of the Impala, disembarking from the ferry once it reached the dock. For a small town, Bright Falls didn't seem half bad. But, regardless of how he felt, it didn't matter. He and Sam were on a case, not a vacation. Until the Hell's gates were closed, they would never gain a sense of peace and freedom. Their lives as hunters had robbed them of it. They'd gradually lost almost everyone they loved over the years. All they had left was each other. Sure, they considered Castiel as family, as a brother, but it wasn't the same. The possibility of losing Sam to the trials terrified Dean, but he knew that they would never have a chance for a normal, apple-pie life unless and until the tests were completed. They'd shared a taste of this life—Sam with Amelia when Dean was in Purgatory, and Dean with Lisa and her son Ben after Sam had jumped into Lucifer's Cage—and while Dean was entirely convinced that there was no light at the end of their tunnel, Sam was determined to survive so he and his brother could live their lives. Whether or not they would go their separate ways, neither was certain.

He mentally kicked himself. Despite his misgivings about their circumstances, he had to get his head in the game. The third trial would come later. Not now. "You want something to eat, Sam?" he asked his brother, trying to distract himself.

"I'm not hungry, thanks," Sam replied, "but it might be a good idea to ask around about what's going on, you said it yourself. Small town, it shouldn't be that hard to get around." He met his brother's eyes, receiving the slightest nod in agreement. For a few minutes, they simply coasted about the town, taking in their surroundings, before Dean parallel-parked in front of the Oh Deer Diner. The brothers climbed out of the Impala, going off in separate directions. Sam headed inside the diner, and was instantly greeted with a bright and cheerful, "Welcome to the Oh Deer Diner!" He turned his gaze towards the speaker. She was a young woman in her early 20s with shoulder-length blonde hair and green eyes. Her nametag read _Rose Marigold. _

"Hi," Sam began, and flashed his fake FBI badge for a moment before putting it back into his pocket. "Agent Jon Young. I wanted to ask you a few questions." Rose was startled.

"About what?" she said, almost spitting the words.

"About what's been going on in this town, Ms. Marigold. People have been going missing in the middle of the night and others beaten to death directly afterwards," he replied coolly and informally. "Have you noticed anything…strange within the past week?"

"No," she said, "but sometimes, I feel like something is out there." Sam's intuition flickered at these words.

"Like what is out there?"

"Something that we can't fight," she said. A chill went up Sam's spine, a sense of foreboding sweeping over him.

* * *

Dean headed inside the bookstore. Perhaps he could do a little more research on the trials, despite his misgivings about how to find out what the final one was. He was about to make his way to the nonfiction selection when he saw a cut-out standing beside an entire table filled with novels of the same author. _Alan Wake, _the prop read_, #1 bestselling author of Alex Casey and Departure._ Dean's brow furrowed. He'd never heard of Alan Wake, nor any of his works. Curiously, he picked up a copy of _Departure_ and opened it up, skimming through the pages. He stopped suddenly, a paragraph catching his eye.

_For decades, the darkness that wore Barbara Jagger's skin slept fitfully in the dark place that was its home and prison. It was hungry and in pain. It dreamed of its nights of glory when the poet's writing had called it from the depths and given it a brief, terrible taste of power and freedom. The rock stars had stirred it from the deep sleep the poet had sunk it back to in the end. _

_When it sensed the writer on the ferry, it opened its eyes. _

"This guy is almost like another Stephen King," he muttered under his breath. He flicked through the book some more, his intrigue growing.

_For it to be free, the Dark Presence needed the writer to finish the story. Again and again the story let it get frustratingly close to the writer without letting it capture him. It was bound by the events depicted in the manuscript. But it could pursue the writer indirectly, put others on the task, and stop those who would help him. _

_It took over everything in its path, made them its puppets, and sent them after Alan Wake. _

Dean's blood ran cold at those last words. Alan Wake—he was the author of the novel. Why would be make himself a character in his own story? Dean was no expert when it came to writing novels, but he was certain that inserting yourself into your own story wasn't a popular technique amongst professional authors. However, he found _Departure _to be a very interesting piece of work. For whatever reason, it had unnerved him for a brief moment that the author was a character in his own narrative. He was about to put the book down when he found himself nearing the end of the book. What he saw almost made his heart stop in his chest.

_I'd first heard the poem in a dream, recited by a strange UFO-like light. I'd read it again in the cabin, in a book by Thomas Zane: _

_For he did not know_

_That beyond the lake_

_He called home_

_Lies a deeper, darker_

_Ocean green_

_Where waves are_

_Both wilder_

_And more serene_

_To its ports I've been_

_To its ports I've been._

Dean slammed the book closed, putting it back down onto the table, startled. It'd been the same. The exact same poem the light in his and Sam's dream had delivered. There was no way in hell this was a mere coincidence. He wasn't a believer in coincidences, nor fate, but this was unsettling. First the vivid dreams, and now this? He unconsciously pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Sam's number. His brother picked up on the first ring.

"Dean? What've you got?" asked Sam.

"It's crazy even for us, Sam," he responded. "I'm at the local bookstore. Meet me here, and I'll tell you more."

"Okay, I think I have something too," his younger brother said. "I'll see you in a few."

"See you, Sammy." He cut the connection, putting his phone back into his pocket. His mind wandered towards Chuck Shurley and his novels. His books had been scarily accurate in telling the story of the Winchesters. They'd been known as _The Winchester Gospel. _Was this Alan Wake character a prophet, like he'd been? Dean didn't know what to believe, but seeing the poem in his book had shaken him to the core. He didn't know what to make of it. It didn't make sense if Wake was a prophet. There could only be one prophet at a time—the only way this could be possible was if Kevin was dead. No, that couldn't be it. _Departure_, by the looks of it, had been published last year. Last year, he and Sam had been fighting the leviathans. Kevin had been revealed as a prophet at that time. That alone completely ruled out Alan Wake as a prophet. Dean shook his head. None of this shit made sense anymore. The trials were killing Sam, Castiel and Kevin were gone, and he and Sam were out on a case when they should have been trying to unearth the final trial so they could end this once and for all. Hell, now that he thought of it, Sam shouldn't be out in the field on this case. His health was rapidly deteriorating. Dean was beginning to see more of the symptoms and his brother's attempts to feign his weakness. Sam was sleeping more than he should, he was hardly eating, and he was coughing up more blood. Not small amounts like a nosebleed, but it appeared that his body was rejecting its blood and slowly shutting itself down, and it scared the hell out of him. Castiel was unable to heal him of this affliction, which only intensified his concern for his brother's health. Their father, John Winchester, had often told Dean to take care of Sam, but Dean had never needed to be told twice. He would always protect his baby brother, but he was terrified by the fact that he could not save Sam from the trials and how they were slowly killing him. He refused to believe that he could not protect his brother from this.

"Dean!" Dean jumped, startled out of his thoughts. Sam was giving him a pointed look. "Dean, what've you got?"

"Oh, sorry," he said quickly. He grabbed a copy of _Departure_, flipping to the page with the poem. "You should see this, Sam. Read it." Dean could see the skepticism in his brother's eyes, but his expression quickly changed as he read the page.

"What the hell?" Sam asked, giving the book back to him. "That poem is the exact same one in the dream."

"Exactly," Dean responded. "I thought that this Alan Wake guy was a prophet, but this book was published last year. I think that there's a chance that this may tie in to our case, but I'm not entirely sure."

"What? How could this have a connection to whatever it is we're hunting, Dean?"

"First the dream, and now the poem popping up in a book? I think it's all part of some bigger picture, but I don't know what," he said. "What about you? What've you got?"

"The waitress at the Oh Deer Diner is definitely a bit fishy," his brother explained. "She claimed not to have noticed anything strange, although she was jumpy when I asked her about the disappearances."

"Did she say anything else?"

"No, except that something is out there. She said—and I quote, 'Something that we can't fight.' Unquote. I don't know about you, but I think she may know a bit about the supernatural. She didn't strike me as a hunter, though," Sam went on, "but more as a victim of what's out there. She still seemed a bit…off to me."

_This is a lot more complicated than I thought. _It seemed that everything they'd found so far were puzzle pieces and they just couldn't seem to fit the pieces together, unless they were trying to fit together the wrong puzzle. It made no sense, but there was a connection. The case had started out as a simple case, but now, the puzzle pieces were scattered and Dean and Sam were at a loss on piecing it all together. They made their way out of the bookstore, and Dean could have sworn he saw an FBI agent, staring at them coldly. When he looked up, the agent was gone.


	4. Nightmare

The Dark Presence was powerful, but not powerful enough to break free of its chains to reach the world without having to touch an artist. There was no manuscript, no piece of work that it could use to its advantage. Not yet. The writer was held in the Dark Place in the dark depths of Cauldron Lake, but the Dark Presence sensed an emerging threat that came not from the writer, but Dean and Sam Winchester. The Dark Presence was still regaining its strength after the writer had destroyed its previous human vessel with the Clicker, but once it was strong enough, it would go after them and, if fate would have it, break its shackles and unleash itself upon the world.

* * *

Sheriff Breaker's intuition was bugging her, like a fly that wouldn't stop buzzing around you. Her duty was to Bright Falls, but—assuming the Dark Presence had returned—how could she protect the town from something that was omnipresent? She knew how to fight it, but only because Alan had told her how to do so. There was no possible way she and Wheeler could protect the town on their own. Alan was gone; the authorities believed him dead, but Sarah didn't believe he was gone. Neither did Wheeler. She strode into her office, reaching for her revolver from her belt and loading it with bullets.

"I'm heading out, guys," she said as she strode out from her office. She hurried out of the police station. Today was just not her day. Her meeting with Barry had sparked a strong sense of dread within her, like the calm before the storm. She was the sheriff; she'd experienced some deep shit in her life, but not like the Dark Presence. Darkness had never frightened her; it was a mere absence of light, but now her perspective had completely changed. She knew now that darkness was a very tangible entity; you could touch and feel it, and the only way it could be fought was with light. While she didn't sleep with the lights on, she hadn't emerged from the war unscathed. She was jumpy and more wary of the dark, and was more open-minded to more possibilities—even the ones that were impossible and beyond the borders of logic. Agent Nightingale hadn't realized this until his very last moments. His shocked expression after he realized the events in the manuscript were coming true before he was suddenly taken by the Dark Presence still haunted her to this day. There was no evidence that he was dead, but there was no way in hell he could have survived the attack. Sarah's train of thought was interrupted when she felt the atmosphere change. Perhaps it was her feeling of dread and concern for the town that had finally gotten to her, but she semi-ran to her car, ignited the engine and sped off from the police station. Dawn was breaking, and she couldn't help but double-check her belt. Gun, check. Flashlight, check.

_Fuck, Sarah. Get it together. You're being paranoid, _she chastised herself, but her intuition told her otherwise. And it scared the shit out of her.

* * *

Sam's head was spinning as he and Dean made their way back to their motel room. He tried to ignore it, but his brother kept on giving him concerned looks, almost as if he were about to collapse. More than anything, he wanted to tell Dean that he would be okay, but what was the point? His ailment wasn't a simple cold or flu that could be nursed within a matter of days, and it was more than clear how much Dean didn't want to accept it, and while he understood his worry, he wanted his brother to accept the situation for what it was. He would make it through the final trial and close the gates of Hell, or die trying.

"Sammy, are you okay?" Dean asked him, shaking him out of his reverie. Both brothers knew he wasn't asking about the revelation about the poem.

"I'm fine, honestly," he insisted. "I'm fine." Dean shot him a doubtful look in response.

"You're not okay, and we both know it," the elder Winchester said, frustration creeping into his voice. "It's been three days since you last ate—_three days_—and you've been oversleeping, coughing up blood—" He put a hand to his brother's forehead and pulled his hand back. "—and you're burning up. This is _not good_, Sam. Not good whatsoever."

"The only way I'll be able to get better is if I start and finish the third trial, Dean," said Sam pointedly. His head was pounding, like a gong was going off inside his skull. The pain was blinding and made it hard, near impossible, for him to concentrate.

"Trial? I wouldn't let you start a moped! This sickness will only get worse as time goes by. We are _not _starting the third trial until you're well enough."

"Dean, this isn't a cold or flu or whatever it is you're supposed to feed," he began. "These trials—they're changing me."

"And what makes you so sure of that, Sam?" his brother countered. "Nobody else has ever tried to take on these trials! We don't know what the fuck is going on! All we know is that you need to regain your strength before we can move forward with this_. You've got to let me take care of you._" Sam's eyes were bleary; he could hardly see Dean, and bullets of cold sweat were just barely beginning to form. He was in no condition to go out on a hunt let alone take on the final trial, but it didn't matter to him. He was determined to shut the gates of Hell, and he would do it. Didn't he owe Dean that much? Over the years, he had done so much wrong and hurt his brother in so many ways, whether it was trusting Ruby—a demon—and triggering the Apocalypse, being a soulless, apathetic bastard who hadn't cared at all about his brother or _anything _or anyone upon his return from the Cage, and not searching for him after he'd been sent to Purgatory after killing Dick Roman. Sam met his brother's eyes and was about to respond when Dean shook his head. _End of discussion, Sam, _he seemed to say.

"I'm going to go shower," Sam said, and all of a sudden, an overwhelming nausea swept over him like the plague. He was certain he would keel over and vomit in front of Dean, and the last thing he needed was to be completely bedridden while on a case. Sam quickly half-walked, half-ran to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth to keep from puking. He wasn't sure what was coming up, and frankly, he didn't want to know. Before he knew it, he was on his knees, leaning over the toilet, heaving violently.

"Sam! Sammy!" he heard his brother shout. There was the sound of hurried footsteps, but Sam barely paid any mind to his brother and his concern. His head was swimming, and he could scarcely see through his bleary eyes. "Oh my god, oh my god…" The panic was clear as a bell in Dean's voice, and Sam wanted to reassure him that he was okay, but he knew it would be useless. _You're not okay, and we both know it. _For several long moments, Sam knelt there, retching. He was faintly aware of his brother's presence as he reassuringly rubbed his back in gentle circles. Minutes passed, and finally, Sam leaned back from the toilet. He wiped his mouth; blood came off on his arm. It was then that it dawned on him; he'd been puking up blood.

"Sam, go get some rest," Dean said. "Please." Sam nodded slowly and made his way out of the room, trying not to let his mind wander to the poem in his dream.

* * *

The inside of the toilet was a horrific bloody mess, a mini blood bath almost. Blood covered its sides, and there was nothing there to see but the familiar scarlet color of blood. Blood. Everywhere. Dean rose to his feet and flushed the toilet, trying to keep himself calm. Sam had said earlier that he would be cured of this…condition if he completed the third trial, and Dean wanted so badly to believe him—but was it worth the risk? Was it worth putting his brother's life on the line again and risk losing him again? They were on a case when they should've be trying to uncover the last trial, for god's sake. The only thing that was keeping Dean from losing hope in their predicament was his faith in his brother, faith that he would pull through. Because Sam _always _pulled through in the end. Dean took several deep breaths before making his way out of the bathroom and out the door of their motel room, quietly closing the door behind him so he wouldn't wake Sam. He needed some air, to clear his mind.

"Cass, dammit, where are you?" he found himself saying. "Sam…he's getting worse. He threw up blood earlier, and…" Dean resisted the urge to kick something out of frustration and anger. "We need you!" He paused in his tracks, half-expecting to hear the flutter of wings and Castiel's voice from behind him. Nothing. _Of course, _he thought bitterly. _Go off the grid and ignore my prayers. Stupid, stupid son of a bitch. _He shook his head and swung open the door to the Impala, inserting the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, and Dean made his way out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He didn't care that he was speeding, or that he'd probably get pulled over. So many questions, so many doubts, swirled around in his mind. There was no light at the end of the tunnel—why would there be one? Sam's condition was only getting worse; chances were that he would die soon, whether or not he completed the last trial. Dean punched the steering wheel in rage, barely resisting the urge to scream. He was completely tired of bottling up all his inner turmoil, all of the shit he'd sworn he'd buried deep down inside himself. Kevin was gone—Crowley had to have gotten to him—and Cass had abandoned them again while Sam was _dying_. How in the hell would they—

Dean was shaken out of his thoughts when he saw a hooded figure standing in the middle of the road. "_Shit_!" He slammed on the breaks, but it was too late. The Impala collided with the man, sending him flying. Dean flung the door open, running over to the man he'd hit. However, there was no sign of him. No sign that there'd been someone there. No sign of anything. The road was eerily empty; there was nobody but him. Dawn was beginning to break. Dean pulled out his cell phone. _Dammit. _No battery life. He'd barely formed another thought when he heard the chainsaw.


	5. Shadows

When Dean heard the chainsaw, he knew that it wasn't because someone was tearing town trees. Someone was coming, and it wasn't for a friendly visit. He whipped out his revolver and quickly loaded it with bullets.

"Who's there?" he shouted, raising his weapon. "Answer me, dammit!" There was no response, until he saw it. The hooded figure manifested itself before him a few feet away. Holding a chainsaw. Dean couldn't make out the stranger's features in the blackness of night, but one thing stood out to him. The man was covered in shadows, shadows that appeared to be tangible beings. Shadows that shielded him.

"Don't wander around the streets alone," the man said mockingly. His voice was inhuman and disturbingly deep, almost like it was distorted. "You never know who you'll find." Dean didn't bother replying, didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang out, but there was no sign that the bullet had harmed his assailant. The man raised his chainsaw and with a roar, came charging at him. Dean acted on instinct; he backpedaled quickly, almost running backwards, never taking his eyes off his opponent as he fired in rapid succession. It was futile; none of the shots harmed him. _Shit, shit, shit! _Before he knew it, the dark man was on him, the distance between them almost closed. He braced himself for the final blow, when all of a sudden, he heard the sound of an engine and then multiple gunshots. Startled, he whirled around to find the sheriff. She was aiming her flashlight at the shadow man while shooting at him. The beam of light disintegrated the shadows cloaking him. After one final shot, the dark man burst into nothingness, sparks flying almost like small fireworks.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded. "Are you a hunter?" The sheriff's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Excuse me?" she said, approaching him. "What are you talking about?" It was then that it dawned upon him. The sheriff was no hunter. She had to have had experienced the supernatural in the past, but for whatever reason, he and Sam had missed out on the case.

"You've dealt with the supernatural before?" he tried again. "And not the bull kind of supernatural on reality TV?" He could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to make sense of their situation.

"You have no idea," the sheriff responded. "What's your name?"

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Sarah Breaker." She paused, before shaking her head in disbelief. "I'm going to need you to explain everything to me, Dean." He nodded. It'd only been hours since his and Sam's arrival in town, and it was already becoming clear that there was more to the town than met the eye. Perhaps telling the sheriff the truth would result in some answers, but if anything, nothing was ever simple. There was no reason that this case would be no different. She pulled out her cell phone and quickly dialed.

"Who're you calling?" Dean asked.

"A friend," Sarah answered shortly, then she shifted her attention to her call. "Hey, Wheeler. It's Sheriff Breaker…everything's fine. We need to talk. It's important, and—" She glanced at Dean. "I think we might have someone who can help us…his name is Dean Winchester. Meet us at the police station. We can talk more about this then…okay, great. I'll see you in a bit." She killed the connection.

"I'll meet you at the station, Sheriff. I need to go back and get my brother at the motel," he informed her.

"Okay," she said. "I'll see you there." She walked back to her car, and he back to the Impala, and the two parted ways.

* * *

After Sarah's call, Barry was torn between fear—fear of his beliefs about the Dark Presence being confirmed—and hope, hope that perhaps this Dean Winchester knew more about the Dark Presence and Cauldron Lake than he himself did, and doubt. He wasn't entirely certain that Dean Winchester would be capable of fighting the Dark Presence, let alone was trustworthy. After all, he faintly recalled hearing on the news that he and his brother Sam Winchester had gone on a mass cross-country killing spree last year…unless there were other people by the name of Sam and Dean Winchester. He just didn't know anymore. He'd hoped that managing the Old Gods would distract him from everything, but now, he saw how wrong he was. _Nothing ever really ends, does it? _he thought to himself as his car engine rumbled to life. He backed out of the parking lot and sighed mentally. Alan would know what to do in these circumstances; he knew more about the Dark Presence than anyone. Barry—he just wanted out. He wanted out of this war, but he couldn't abandon his friends. He couldn't abandon Sarah to fight alone. Alan was gone, and they both knew that. Alan would never have let him. It just wouldn't be the right thing to do.

"Please, please…let this be the end of it," he heard himself pray, and he pressed forward, steeling himself against his misgivings. This was the right thing to do, whether he liked it or not. He turned on the radio, and he let his mind drift as the lyrics swirled about in his ears.

* * *

"Sam, Sam!" Startled, Sam jumped. He leaned forward and rubbed his bleary eyes so he could focus on his brother, who was shaking him awake.

"Dean!" he exclaimed. His brother was gently shaking him, but he didn't want to get up. His body was aching terribly, and he was both starving and nauseous. He knew he was in no shape to be on the job, but he didn't care. Didn't care that he was dying. Didn't care that he probably wouldn't survive the third trial, or this case. What was the point? What was the point of it all? He was going to die sooner or later, but Hell would be closed forever. "What is it?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"I bumped into the sheriff, and she might know a bit about what we're going up against," his brother explained. "She wants us to meet her at the police station."

"The sheriff? What—?"

"I'll explain later," continued Dean. "Get ready, and then we'll get going." Sam nodded and headed to the bathroom. He took a quick shower, letting the water soothe his body and calm his mind. For the first time in a long time, he felt relaxed—but he knew he was just fooling himself. He could take all the showers in the world, and nothing would change about their predicament. _Get your head in the game, Sam, _he chastised himself. Quickly, he dried himself with a towel and got dressed. Dean had changed out of his faux FBI attire. He looked up at his brother and said simply, "Let's go." They left the motel and climbed into the Impala. As the engine roared to life, Sam turned his gaze towards his brother.

"Dean, what happened earlier tonight?" he asked him. "With you and the sheriff, I mean?"

"You made it sound like we hooked up," joked Dean, but he shook his head, refocusing on the road. "After you crashed, I went out for a spin. I needed to clear my head." Sam almost asked him what had been running through his mind, but he decided against it. Now was not the right time. "I got distracted, and before I know it, I've hit this dude standing in the middle of the road. I got out of the car to check to see if he was okay, but there was no sign of him. Next thing I know, I hear a chainsaw behind me and there he is. When I tried shooting him, nothing worked. Regular rounds didn't affect him, same with rock salt and silver. That's not even the weirdest part. He was covered in shadowy darkness. By the look of it, it was almost protecting him. The sheriff showed up and she ganked the guy with only a flashlight and some bullets."

"Is she a hunter?"

"I thought she was, too," he went on, "but when I asked her about it, she didn't know what I was talking about. I suppose you could call it good luck or whatever that she knew how to fight that thing because, frankly, _that _was weird even by our standards."

"You think she knows what's been taking the townspeople." It wasn't a question, and Dean nodded.

"Whatever it was, I highly doubt it's in any lore," he said. "If it is, I'm pretty sure we would know of it by now." Sam nodded, slowly absorbing all of this. His intuition was telling him that his brother's encounter with the dark man or whatever the hell it was was connected to their case, but there was no way of knowing if this was true. Not yet. They'd have to dig deeper, and just by Dean's words, it sounded like the sheriff knew something. The rest of the drive was filled with silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Sam knew Dean had a lot on his mind, and vice versa. Dean thought they should be trying to figure out the third trial, not working a case. Sam was surprised that his brother had this mindset, but he understood. More than anything, Dean wanted to rid the world of all demons but he was terrified for Sam's life. He wanted to end it all so he could be okay and they—no, Sam—could live a normal life, get married and build a family…live the life he could've had with Jess. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but Dean didn't see it. _ You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. _He'd said it himself.

_No light, no light, _Sam thought. He sighed internally and gazed out the window. He was exhausted and a part of him was more than willing to just give up. Dean was the only thing keeping him going—keeping him alive. If he gave up now, he would never hear the end of it. If he gave up now, the world would be forever cursed with demons walking the earth. It was a double-edged sword; no matter what end he chose, he would bleed with the consequences of his decision. He wouldn't, though. He wouldn't fail Dean again. He'd fucked up so many times—too many times. It was no wonder his brother thought of him as a failure, a screw-up who broke everything he touched.

"We're here," his brother said, breaking him out of his thoughts. He parked in the nearest available parking spot, and the brothers climbed out of the Impala and headed into the building.

"Dean," a voice called. It was the sheriff.

"Sheriff Breaker," Dean responded, turning around to face her. Sam was surprised to see the sheriff's facial expression of ease, but he could sense an underlying tension in her body language. He supposed she was still shaken up from her encounter with the whatever-the-hell-it-was earlier. She approached them and shook each of their hands.

"I take it your Dean's brother?" she asked Sam.

"Sam Winchester," he responded. "You wanted to speak with me and my brother?" Sarah quickly glanced around the room and said lowly, "I can't talk about this publicly. Follow me." She led them to her office, shutting the door behind them.

"So, you're Sam and Dean Winchester?" The speaker was none other than a man who appeared to be about 30 years-old. Dark circles were under his eyes, and his black hair was short, almost resembling a ball of fuzz. A flattened ball, more like. He was neither overweight nor underweight; Sam wasn't one to judge by appearance—unless it was a creature trying to rip his throat out—but he wondered why the sheriff had brought him with her.

"Yes," Dean said cautiously. He didn't like this guy's tone, and neither did Sam. It was almost accusatory. Scared, as well. "Why?"

"Why? You two are fucking serial killers! Hell, you two are supposed to be dead! This is—"

"Barry, _stop_!" Sarah ordered. "Do you think I would have brought them along if I didn't trust them?"

"It's a long story," Dean said, a hint of irritation in his voice. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

"Barry, just trust me on this one," the sheriff said.

"I hope to God you're right on this one because I'm not going to stick around with two serial killers," he replied bitterly. He reluctantly offered his hand to the brothers. "Barry Wheeler. Why are you two in town, anyway? Vacation?"

"No," Sam explained, stealing a glance in Dean's direction. "We heard about how citizens have been going missing and turning up dead and thought it was worth digging into."

"Are you two detectives?" Sarah pressed.

"Hunters," he and Dean answered in unison.

"Can you explain?" she went on. Barry was silent and tense, but listening intently. Sam prayed that he would understand and come to trust him and his brother. He still believed them to be merciless, bloodthirsty serial killers who'd slaughtered dozens of innocents; if he continued thinking this way, it just may cost him his life.

"We've been hunting the supernatural our whole lives," Dean said. "Our…father taught us how after our mom died." He shook his head. "You don't need to know the gory details. Point is, we know how to deal with all kinds of crazy. Based on what happened earlier tonight, I'm guessing we're dealing with something way out of our league." He paused, turning to Sarah. "But you knew how to kill it. Just a few shots and a flashlight."

"I dealt with it last year. Barry, myself, and…a friend," she explained. Sam sensed her hesitation.

"A friend? Who?" he asked her.

"Alan Wake. Barry's his agent." Sam stole a glance at his brother, who silently mouthed to him, _What the hell? _

"Alan Wake," Dean echoed. "Son of a bitch."

"What is it?" Sheriff Breaker asked.

"I read through his book called _Departure_ earlier today," he clarified. "He mentioned this Dark Presence…and I was attacked by the dark man with a chainsaw."

"A Taken," Barry said.

"A what?"

"A Taken," he repeated. "What attacked you was a Taken. The Dark Presence…it takes over people. Possesses them."

"Like demons?"

"…No. When Alan, Sheriff Breaker and I fought the darkness, Alan told us that once someone became a Taken, there is no salvation. The darkness becomes them—they become the darkness. The only way to kill them is with a gun and light—or just light alone, if you're lucky enough to have flash-bangs or a flare gun at hand."

"So, Sheriff, you've been up against this Dark Presence before?" Sam questioned. She nodded.

"Yep. Barry and I, we thought Alan had finally stopped it but in light of recent events, I'm starting to believe he only put it to rest."

"Hold on, hold on," Dean said. "What the hell are you saying? That everything your friend wrote in _Departure _actually happened?"

"You read the entire book?" Sam queried his brother, who shook his head.

"It all came true," Barry said. "Every single detail. I was skeptic at first when Alan told me, but no, he hadn't been on a psychotic break."

"But, doesn't the Dark Presence need a piece of work for it to pull whatever shit is in its bag of tricks?" Dean interjected. "How could it be back now if there's no roadmap for it to use?" Barry was deep in thought, but after a few moments, he swore quietly.

"Oh, goddammit. Sheriff, were you there at the art gala a few weeks ago?" he asked, his tone full of dread.

"No, why?" Sam exchanged a glance with Dean. He could feel the tension in the room escalating, and he was reeling. Dean was just as baffled and taken aback as he was. He'd suspected that this case was much bigger than a simple vengeful ghost, stray demon, werewolf, shape-shifter, whatever else it could've been. Now that his beliefs were confirmed, he was beginning to wonder how he and Dean would stop it. Yes, they had stopped the Apocalypse and conquered Lucifer. Yes, they had ended the leviathans' crusade to devour the world population. Now, they were trying to shut the gates of Hell. The Dark Presence was a completely different story. His intuition was telling him that if the darkness was able to touch the world, it just may turn into another Apocalypse, no Michael and Lucifer necessary.

"There was this oil painting," said Barry. "I don't know who painted it, but it showed the world being completely enveloped in darkness. The only safe place was a lighthouse." A heavy silence fell in the room. Sheriff Breaker was ill at ease at his words; she shifted her weight uncomfortably, reaching for her gun on her belt.

"Ah, hell," Dean cursed quietly.

"So, what do we do now?" Sam asked. "If we're going to gank this thing, we're going to need a game plan."

"Sam," Dean said, "are you sure you're up for this? After what happened earlier—"

"I'll be fine," he interrupted. "My condition should be the last of our worries right now, Dean."

"Condition?" Sheriff Breaker cut in. "What are you talking about?" Sam turned to his brother. Should he tell her the truth? She already knew of the supernatural, but a part of him wanted to keep her out of his and Dean's quest to shut the gates of Hell forever. It was too risky.

"It's nothing, Sheriff," the elder Winchester answered. Clearly, he'd been thinking the same thing. The less she and Barry knew, the better. "Did Alan mention anything at all that might help us fight this darkness and maybe get rid of it for good?"

"The last time we saw him, he was going back to Cauldron Lake with what he called the Clicker. I don't know what the hell went down, but I'm guessing it put the darkness to rest for a while or at least weakened it."

"The Clicker?"

"It's this detached light switch, but it's actually a weapon that can repel the Dark Presence. It can't completely destroy it; if it could, we wouldn't even be here discussing it," Barry said. "Even if we could get our hands on it, there is no way we can find it. For all we know, it's long gone. When Alan went back to Diver's Isle, he took the Clicker with him. He hasn't been seen since."

"We need to find some other way to destroy it, then," Sam said. "You said it yourself, Barry. The Clicker's gone."

"You don't understand. As far as we know, there is no other way. The darkness makes works of art to life. It did so with _Departure._ It was never written that there was another way."

"And it was written that my brother and I would fight to death during Armageddon," Dean snapped, "and you know what? It didn't happen. We stopped the _Apocalypse_. We're making it up as we go, Wheeler. Screw destiny and what is written. Nothing is set in stone; take it from us, we know." Sam was startled by his brother's outburst, but at the same time, he wasn't surprised. He and Dean both didn't believe in fate and God's will; they'd been Lucifer and Michael's vessels and were supposed to fight to the death, but instead, they'd changed the ending to the story. Lucifer had been shoved back into the Cage where he belonged. "Clicker or no Clicker," he continued, "we will gank this son of a bitch." Sam saw the doubt in Barry's eyes, and deep down, he too had his uncertainties. Dean was angered by Barry's willingness to give up; while it was true that he saw no light at the end of the tunnel, it didn't mean that he was one to give up on others. Sam was exhausted: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Having spent his entire life hunting, he knew he was on his last legs. The trials were depleting his health, and he knew that if he was going to die doing these trials, he would die knowing that every demon created would be locked up in Hell forever and he wouldn't be seen as a failure in Dean's eyes. This, however, was different. He wanted to believe his brother's words, but Barry and Sheriff Breaker knew more about the Dark Presence and how to fight it than he and Dean did. Unless there'd been some kind of loophole when Alan had "destroyed" the Dark Presence that hadn't resulted in the loss of the Clicker and Alan himself, then Barry was right. The Dark Presence would be unstoppable, and the world would be lost to darkness.

"Are you with us or not?" Dean asked. Sheriff Breaker and Barry were about to respond when the lights flickered for a brief moment, before extinguishing like candlelight. A violent tremor shook the ground, and there was a deafening roar. "What the hell?"

"The Dark Presence. It's here."


	6. Forsaken

Dean and Sam didn't hesitate. They drew their revolvers, fully loaded, and Sheriff Breaker tossed them flashlights before giving Barry a gun and light of his own. Dean stole a glance at his younger brother in concern; Sam showed no visible signs of illness, but he couldn't begin to fathom how difficult it was for him to simply stay on his feet and focus on the situation at hand. He desperately prayed that his brother would be okay. His illness had been worsening over the past few weeks, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

"Follow me," Sheriff Breaker said. "We're getting the hell out."

"What about the backup power?" Dean asked. "If the darkness—"

"Light can only do so much, Dean," she snapped. "Follow me." The hunters and Barry followed her as she led them out of the building. Sam was falling behind them, his body wracked with spasms of uncontrollable coughs. Dean whirled around to face his brother, rushing to his side in concern. _I never should have brought him here. _

"Dean, go!" the younger Winchester managed between coughs. "I'll catch up to you!" Vehemently, Dean shook his head. Sam was coughing so violently that he knew—they both knew—he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet for much longer. God only knew how much blood he was coughing up, and he didn't want to imagine what would happen to him once his ailment reached its peak.

"Sam, I'm not leaving you. No way in hell!" said Dean, reaching for his brother so he could support himself. "Hey, hey—"

"Sam! Dean! Come on!" Barry cried. "The darkness is probably going to engulf the place; we need to leave _now_." Dean looked from his brother to a panicked Barry and determined Sheriff Breaker. There were very few options, and they all knew it. In his peripheral vision, he saw bleeding shadows cloak the windows, slowly oozing into the building. It was only a matter of time before the police station was completely besieged by the Dark Presence; there was absolutely no time to lose. He swung Sam's arm over his shoulder, shoving his flashlight in his pocket and half-running, half-walking as he followed the sheriff and literary agent. The ground began to shake again, this time much more vigorously. One may have thought it to be an unusually strong earthquake or perhaps a volcanic eruption, but they all knew that it was too violent to be either of those possibilities. A wraithlike screech rung out once again.

"Sam, do you think you can walk?" Dean asked. "I'll carry you out if I have to." His brother keeled over once again, blood splattering the floor. _Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go! _ "C'mon, Sammy. I'm getting you out of here. Sheriff Breaker, go ahead without us. We'll catch up."

"Are you sure?" she responded.

"Yes, go!" he said. She nodded briefly, before taking off running. Barry followed her. Sam's coughs turned into retching as Dean began to make his way to the nearest way out, staggering as he tried to support his brother's weight. He was surprised to find that, despite his brother's lack of appetite, he still weighed like a massive tank. As soon as they got out of there, he would give Sam something to refuel. In his current state and their circumstances, he needed his strength. Dean could see the Dark Presence leak into the building. He could feel it suffocate him and Sam with the force of its being. Once again, there was an ethereal scream. The ground trembled violently, almost knocking him off his feet. The bleeding shadows were coming faster now, prompting Dean to pick up the pace.

"_Dean, get out_!" Sam managed between coughs. "I'll be fine! I'm slowing you down!" He pulled himself away from his brother, almost falling over with the force of his coughing.

"I'm not going anywhere without you!" Dean shouted over the loud roar. The Dark Presence was in the police station with them, he knew. Sam knew it, too. Barry and Sheriff Breaker were most likely out of the building by now. He was about to say more when a searing pain hit him in his skull. It was unbearable, much worse than hearing an angel speak in Enochian. He cried out in pain, grabbing at his head. In the back of his vision, he saw it. He saw the FBI agent cloaked in writhing shadows, his facial expression hard and cold, before he vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared.

_ I am older than time and the cosmos. There is no stopping what is to come, for I am eternal. _The voice was unrecognizable, neither male nor female. It sounded almost demonic, like a demon's true voice when they weren't in a human vessel. Through the pain, Dean opened his eyes to see if his brother was experiencing the same thing he was. Sam was on his knees, clutching his skull in agony, moaning in pain. He too had heard it, was hearing it right now. Dean could feel the Dark Presence as it surrounded him and his brother. It was coming now, stronger and faster. Sam struggled to rise to his feet and staggered over to Dean, reaching for him so he could support himself. He dragged Dean to the door, struggling through the excruciating pain. Dean turned his head, looking behind them. The room was completely covered in darkness. The shadows were now reaching for him and Sam, but not at the slow pace as before. They were flying towards them with an almost frightening speed. Sam flung the door open before shoving Dean outside.

"SAM!" he screamed. The door slammed shut, and he slammed himself against it. It didn't budge. He tried again. No luck. Again. The ground quaked again, and he shook his head. He had to leave now. There was no time for Sam, and it killed him inside to leave him behind. "Dammit!" Dean swallowed the lump in his throat before turning around and running back to the Impala. He flung the door open and sparked the engine. The Impala roared to life and he sped away from the police station, his heart hammering in his chest. The last thing he heard was a bloodcurdling scream and the sound of shattering glass as the Dark Presence consumed the station.

* * *

"Do you think they made it out okay?" Barry asked Sheriff Breaker. They were in her vehicle, Barry riding shotgun next to her. His hands were shaking, and although his voice was calm, he was panicking. His worst fears were now true; the Dark Presence had returned, and Sam and Dean were probably dead. There was no way in hell they could have escaped in time. He shuddered. The entire ordeal reminded him of when he had helped Alan escape from Cauldron Lake Lodge as it too had been destroyed by the Dark Presence. They'd barely made it out alive. While he didn't entirely trust the Winchesters, he didn't want them to die or become Taken. He wasn't a heartless bastard.

"I honestly don't know, Barry," she said. "With Sam in his condition…" She shook her head. "Where are we supposed to go from here? Alan's gone, Sam and Dean are probably dead, and—" She paused. "I don't see how we're going to stop this thing. Last year, it used Alan's manuscript of _Departure_. Now, it's using an oil painting. We won't know what its next move is going to be, and it's entirely open-ended."

"We should probably go to the Well-Lit Room," Barry told her. "It's the best place we can be right now. Stock up on ammo and whatnot."

"If Cynthia Weaver is there, we may be able to get some pointers on how to fight the Dark Presence," she said, "or at least push it back for now. She knows more about this stuff than all of us combined, and since Alan isn't here with us…"

"She isn't Thomas Zane, Sheriff," he pointed out. "It's worth a shot, though. She's been fighting the darkness her entire life, apparently."

"We need all the help we can get," she agreed. A silence fell between them, and she tried to ignore the feeling in her gut that was telling her that things weren't as simple as they'd been last year, that this was only the beginning.

* * *

There was no way Sam could have survived the Dark Presence's onslaught. Dean couldn't believe it—he refused to believe that his baby brother was gone. He had to be out there somewhere. If he _was _alive, there was a chance he was now one of the Taken. The Dark Presence had completely destroyed the station, killing everyone inside. _And Sam gave his life to save me. _Tears were stinging in Dean's eyes, streaming down his cheeks. His breaths were coming in short gasps, and he tried to keep from sobbing. Now was not the time for mourning. He was fighting a war now, and he was fighting this war alone. He didn't have the slightest clue where Barry and Sheriff Breaker were, but he knew they were okay. They'd made it out unharmed. Even if his brother was alive, how the hell would he survive out there in his current state? Dean took several deep breaths, in and out, in and out, quickly wiping his eyes and focusing on the road. _What the hell am I supposed to do now? _His instinct was screaming at him to forget the case and go find Sam, while another part of him was urging him to find Barry and the sheriff so they could figure out their next move. Dean pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

"Dammit!" he shouted. He had _one job_: take care of Sammy, and once again, he'd screwed it up. He'd screwed it up several years ago back in Cold Oak, when Jake Talley had fatally stabbed Sam, who had died in his arms only minutes afterwards. Now, it was almost like history was repeating itself—except that Dean didn't know whether or not his brother was alive. He'd failed to protect his brother all those years ago. And he'd failed to protect his brother again tonight. It seemed that no matter what he did, he always failed. And it killed him. Why was it that no matter what he did, Sam always ended up getting hurt or worse, _killed_? He was sitting on the sidelines as Sam suffered through the trials. His brother's life was on the line once again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

_Get it together, Dean, _he reprimanded himself. _You're not going to get anywhere by panicking. _He drove on, slamming his foot on the gas pedal. In the distance, he saw trees falling as the ground shook once more.

* * *

In the Dark Place, time and space had no meaning. It was simply darkness and terror, but not for Alan. He'd been trapped in the Dark Place for a year's time. He'd been fighting to keep himself sane and alive for the past year after sacrificing himself for Alice. The chains of the Dark Presence shackled him to the bottom of Cauldron Lake. He knew he wasn't truly in the small town of Night Springs. The Dark Presence was simply manipulating his mind into thinking he was still living his life out there in reality. He knew as much when he had finally seen Alice again after destroying his doppelganger, Mr. Scratch. Alice, she'd been just as real as the Dark Presence itself. He hadn't believed she was real, but she was. Her touch was just as soft as he'd remembered it, her eyes just as beautiful.

_ It doesn't matter if she's real or not, _Alan thought to himself. _I just want to be with her again. _He shook his head, mentally slapping himself. There was no way in hell he could stay here. He had to find a way from the Dark Place so he could get back to Barry and Alice—the real Alice, not a phantasm the Dark Presence created to influence him. He didn't know how she was coping without him, but he knew she must be devastated. He had no way of knowing if she'd moved on from him or not, but that didn't matter. What mattered was returning to the real world. _How am I supposed to break free of this illusion? _He knew it wasn't going to be as simple as writing himself a way out of the Dark Place. Nothing was ever simple, especially when it came to the Dark Presence. He was trapped in the enigma that was the Dark Place, and escaping it wouldn't be easy—but he had to try. For his sake, and that of the people he loved.

"Alan, what's bothering you?" Alice asked, rolling over to face him. They lie on the bed of an empty motel room, their naked limbs intertwined.

"It's nothing," he answered, hating the lie. _Dammit, Alan. Alice isn't really here with you! This is all an illusion! You've been making love to a fantasy. _He had to get the hell out of Night Springs and get back to the real world. His gut was telling him something terrible was happening, and here he was, making love to an illusion of his wife instead of trying to escape.

"Don't try to brush it off," she said. "Something's been bothering you ever since we found each other again."

Alan sighed internally. The Dark Place was truly fucking with his mind. He'd spent the better half of the past year fighting for his survival and now, it was torturing him in the worst possible way: Alice. Alice wasn't real, no more real than Emma or Serena. Being with Alice again was his main incentive for breaking out of the Dark Place, yet was also making him want to stay in the Dark Place. Regardless of how he felt, it would be wrong of him to abandon his friends so he could be with a vision of his wife. And he couldn't do that. "I just feel that we should leave Night Springs," he said slowly. "It's not safe here for either of us." _It's not safe here, period. _He had to leave her and find his way out of the Dark Place. Night Springs had only been one of many psychological traps that had been laid before him, and he could never seem to evade it. "No, no. I have to go. Alone. You stay here."

"What the hell has gotten into you?" she demanded. "We just got each other back!"

"I can't explain," Alan said. _None of this is real._ _You aren't real. _

"Stay with me," Alice begged. "I don't want to be here alone." Alan sat up and hurriedly donned his clothes, which were scattered about the floor. Alice looked after him in worry and confusion. He refused to look her in the eye; he couldn't afford to let himself continue believing she was real. Everything that he'd experienced was all a mirage.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't stay here." He grabbed his gun and flashlight off the nightstand.

"Alan—"

"This isn't real," Alan said to himself. "None of this is real." Maybe if he kept telling himself this, he would be able to make himself leave her. "I love you, Alice." Without looking back, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

It was free. Finally free after being written back into the lake by the writer. The Dark Presence had merely touched the artist, and they had painted the gateway in which it could finally be free from the Dark Place. The beauty of visual art, the oil painting, was that it was not bound by a chain of events as it had been when it used the writer's manuscript. The Dark Presence knew that the writer was trying to find a way out of the Dark Place, but he didn't pose a major threat, at least not yet. It was stronger, more powerful now and it sent its forces after Sam and Dean Winchester.


	7. Divided

Sam's heart was pounding, his entire body shaking. _What the hell had just happened_? He'd been through more horrors than anyone could imagine, but this was something else. It was bigger than the Apocalypse, and it'd only been mere luck that he'd escaped the station. He'd thrown himself out the window, and only worsened his predicament. _I need to find Dean as soon as I get to a hospital. _Shards of glass were impaled in his leg, shoulders, and even his ribcage. He knew that if he didn't get to a hospital soon, he wouldn't survive the night and die of blood loss. If the trials didn't kill him first. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed his brother's cell number. It rang once…twice…thrice, and finally: "This is Dean Winchester. Please leave a message."

"Dean, I don't know if you're going to get this or not," he began, "but, whatever the hell just happened back there, I have this feeling that this is only the beginning. Please…don't worry about me, I'm okay. Call me back if you get this." He cut the connection before shoving his phone back into his pocket. As bad as his own predicament was, he was more concerned for his brother's welfare. Dean was..._Dean. _When it came to Sam himself, he was willing to do anything and frankly, it scared the hell out of Sam sometimes, even more so than his brother's wish to die during the trials. Sam was the only thing that kept him grounded, and vice versa. _Don't do anything stupid, Dean, _he prayed. _Please. _He grabbed for a shard of glass and pulled it out of his ribcage. There was a sharp, fiery pain and he swore to himself. He knew he should get going; Bright Falls was most likely swarming with Taken. He dislodged the slivers in his legs and burst into a sprint, drawing his revolver and flashlight, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his body. _I'm not out of the woods—and probably won't be for a while_, he thought to himself. After throwing himself out the window, he'd taken off running, his survival instinct overriding everything else. His flight had taken him into the forests; now he was stuck in a maze to find his brother or, if he was lucky, Sheriff Breaker and Barry all whilst trying to find a way to end the Dark Presence before it covered the world in darkness and destruction. Sam knew that neither Heaven nor Hell played a part in this struggle; calling Castiel would be fruitless in itself. The angel knew nothing of or about the Dark Presence. How could he? Dean had prayed to him every night when he thought Sam was asleep, and he had never answered. The war between Heaven and Hell, he knew, paled in comparison to that of the Dark and Light Presence. The Dark Presence was much more powerful than both realms, and the Light Presence, it seemed, was losing strength. So much was at stake; he could only hope that he wasn't fighting a losing battle.

* * *

Zane knew it was bound to happen again. The Dark Presence had arisen once again, and was rising still, gaining more power with every passing minute. The painter it'd brainwashed had given it the key to the gateway in which it was finally free in every sense of the word. Its chains to Cauldron Lake were broken, and he was powerless to stop it. He had called upon Sam and Dean Winchester in their dreams, hoping that they would be able to stop the Dark Presence. They had indeed come to Bright Falls, but it seemed as if their arrival had awakened the Dark Presence from its sleep, almost as if it knew the reasons behind their coming. The writer had been able to weaken it with the Clicker, but now both he and the Clicker were lost. Zane was too weak to fight the Dark Presence himself; he was trapped beneath the lake, as he had been for decades. His Barbara was lost forever; there was no writing her back to life. There never would be. It would end in disaster. The Dark Presence was now wearing the FBI agent, who was no more than a walking corpse as Barbara had been. Cynthia Weaver—the Lady of the Light, she too was gone but not dead. The young waitress had been dragged into this war; there was no going back, for her, for himself, the writer and his wife, the Winchesters, for anyone. All he could do was wait, and hope that this was the end of it all, that they could end what he had started all those years ago.

* * *

Dean couldn't ignore the intense feeling of trepidation washing over him. He couldn't tell if it was because of his grief for his brother or the shock of the Dark Presence's attack. All he knew was that he and Sam had gotten themselves involved in something much bigger than closing the gates of Hell and if they didn't put an end to it soon, the consequences would be horrific. The Dark Presence may have resided in Bright Falls, but he couldn't ignore the strong possibility that its influence would soon become worldwide. _This thing almost destroyed the town before, _he thought to himself. _If we can't put an end to this, all hell is going to break—_

_BOOM! _A gasoline truck abruptly dropped before him, just barely missing the Impala. It exploded upon impact; Dean hurriedly veered around the blast, just as a vehicle was hurled at him with impossible force. He heard the crunch of metal on metal as the van and the Impala collided, almost throwing him off the road. In his rearview mirror, he could see the path of destruction the Dark Presence was forming as it took over everything in its path. He saw shadows seeping into buildings before consuming them entirely; Taken emerged like a bear awakening from hibernation, bloodthirsty and ready to kill. His blood ran cold at the sight of some of the Taken dogs; the dogs barely resembled what they once were. They were covered in shadows, much like the rest of the Taken, but looked almost demonic in appearance. _Almost like hellhounds. _For a brief moment, he remembered the night when Lilith's hellhounds had ravaged him before Sam's eyes. There was not a doubt in his mind that the Taken hounds would tear him apart if given the chance. Hellhounds, the Taken mutts, they were both the same thing. The only difference was their loyalty. The Taken began to chase after him, and he slammed his foot on the gas. His effort turned out to be fruitless, as within seconds, the Taken were upon him, swinging their axes, crowbars, shovels, and pickaxes at the Impala. The dogs were biting at the wheels, some trying to jump on the car. Some briefly succeeded, only to fall off when Dean violently veered to the side to throw them off just as a blinding pain hit him. The Dark Presence was speaking to him again, just as it'd done in the sheriff station.

_I was imprisoned in the lake for centuries before I was dreamt free. There is no stopping me now. _Dean struggled to focus on the road through the agony the Dark Presence as inflicting upon him; it took every ounce of control to keep himself from grabbing at his head and succumbing to the pain. A Taken suddenly manifested before him and swung their pickaxe into the engine of the Impala, only to be run down. The body burst into a shower of sparks, leaving absolutely no trace of its existence behind.

_The perks of driving with nightlights, _he thought smugly to himself. For a moment, he considered switching on the taillights. _Dammit. The taillights don't provide enough light to take out their darkness mojo. _Even if they did, he couldn't keep to the road. He had to find Sam, and there was no telling where he was and if he was okay or not. It was an evil choice, but one that he had to make. As important as finding Wheeler and Sheriff Breaker was, finding his brother was more imperative. He refused to abandon Sam. Dean hit the brakes, climbing out of the Impala, gun and flashlight in hand. "Come and get it, you sons of bitches!" he shouted, aiming the beam of light at the nearest Taken. He rapidly fired his weapon, concentrating, praying even. Something gave, and the light shone brighter. The darkness shielding them vanished, and after a few more rounds, they too dissipated in showers of sparks. The Taken dogs leapt at him, bearing their teeth and snapping at him. He blinded them with the ray of his flashlight before firing his revolver at them. They died almost instantly. It became a warlike dance, almost. Dean destroyed the Taken's shields with light before finishing them off with his fire-arm. By the time all of the Taken were destroyed, he was certain that he would need much more firepower than a simple flashlight and revolver. He knew that the Dark Presence would send more Taken after him. After him, the sheriff and Alan's literary agent, and even Sam…if he was still out there. Dean broke into a sprint, not daring to look back. _I'm coming, Sam. _

* * *

When she'd heard the inhuman roars and felt the earth shaking, she'd known. The darkness that had almost pushed her off the cliff of sanity last year had resurfaced. Rose was terrified, but there was no turning back now. _The night is dark and full of terrors, _she thought to herself as she reached for her lantern on the counter in the diner. She walked out of the diner, closing the door behind her, and let herself fall into the depths of madness. She made no notice of the vehicle speeding towards her.


	8. The House of Dreams

Alan felt it in the air, in his gut. Something had drastically changed, and not because of one of his manuscripts. He felt the Dark Presence, but not as it was before. It was stronger now, too strong, almost overpowering. What had changed? Had he subconsciously written the Dark Presence free without realizing it? _No, no, no. The Dark Presence couldn't have gotten to me again, _he thought to himself. He'd been trapped in the Dark Place for a year; if the Dark Presence wanted him to write itself free, all it had to do was merely touch him again. _Not this time. _Things were different now. He was imprisoned beneath Cauldron Lake, fighting for his life and sanity. He couldn't do anything to stop the Dark Presence as it made itself known to the world, the_ real_ world. If he was going to free himself, he had to write himself a way out. He'd written _Return_, a sequel to _Departure, _in hopes that it would bring him closer to freedom. It was the only way. The manuscript hadn't granted him his freedom, but there was a slim possibility he'd sent out a signal to the real world, to his friends. He could only hope they could hear it. The writer knew he didn't have enough power to completely escape; all he could rely upon were the signals he could send.

"Don't be stupid, Wake," he reprimanded himself. "If you're going to get out of here, you have to write it." _Return _was supposed to be his gateway out of the Dark Place, but upon learning that Mr. Scratch was after Alice, it became her salvation. Now, he was gone and she was safe. It was time for him to go home. Alan shook his head and headed into another motel room, ensuring it was as far away from the vision of Alice, and locking the door behind him. He willed his typewriter to be real, and it manifested itself before him on the desk. _It's time for me to go home. _

* * *

Sheriff Breaker stole a spare glance towards Barry, who was riding shotgun next to her. She knew fighting the Dark Presence was not going to be easy, but she was up for the challenge and more than willing to do what she could to protect Bright Falls—with or without Alan's help. She hoped they would receive aid from Cynthia, who resided in the town's light and power station. Cynthia had been fighting the Dark Presence her entire life; it'd been she who had given Alan—

"Sarah, look out!" Barry shouted, and she hit the brakes, redirecting her attention to the road. The vehicle was only inches away from whom she immediately recognized as Rose Marigold from the Oh Deer Diner.

"What is Rose doing out here?" she asked him as they climbed out of the car.

"I don't know," he replied. "Rose! Rose, are you alright?" The waitress didn't respond to him; she made no sign that she'd even heard him.

"Ms. Marigold," Sarah began, "can you tell us why you're out here?"

"It's started," she mumbled monotonously. "The war between the Darkness and the Light." She turned her head towards them, and Barry jumped. Her eyes were completely glazed over and unseeing, almost as if she were in a catatonic state. "Welcome to the Oh Deer Diner…what can I do for you today?" Sarah and Barry shared a glance; they both knew what'd happened. The Dark Presence had touched Rose. They didn't need to see any withering shadows about her to see its influence upon her. "I'm your biggest fan, Mr. Wake…"

"We can't leave her out here," said the sheriff.

"What are we going to do, then?" Barry demanded. "We can't exactly drag her around with us; all that would do is put all of us in more danger than we already are." He was right, and they both knew it. Rose had been targeted by the Dark Presence once; if it reached her again, who knew what would happen to her next? She'd gone mad with the night, just as Cynthia had. Cynthia had maintained her sanity, and Rose was on the edge.

"We'll take her with us to the light station," she answered. "It's the safest place for her, especially in her current state. Then, we'll figure out our next move." Barry's facial expression was clouded with uncertainty and worry; for a brief moment, she envied him. He'd been having his doubts since the moment they met the Winchesters—perhaps even before then. She didn't have the luxury of doubt; the town depended on her. Now that Alan was gone, she and Barry were on their own. Sam and Dean were almost certainly dead. And it scared the hell out of her. She knew just as well as Barry how powerful the Dark Presence was, could be. _Don't think about that now, _she reprimanded herself. "Come on. We need to get going." She and Barry got back into her car; Rose sat in the backseat, quietly mumbling nonsense to herself.

The drive to Bright Falls Light & Power was, save for Rose's muttering, silent and tense. Barry knew it'd been a bad idea to bring Rose with them, but what else could they do? It would've been wrong to leave her out there alone to die, or worse, become one of the Taken. After learning why Rose had drugged him and Alan last year, he hadn't been able to bring himself to be angry with her. The Dark Presence had influenced her, and now, a year later, its mark was still there. Her mad ramblings proved it. _How long has she been like this? _All those times this past year when he'd visited the diner, she'd shown absolutely no sign of instability, that the Dark Presence had left its mark on her. Now, she was unresponsive and rambling incoherently like a madwoman.

_Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night. That's how you reshape destiny. _The lyrics were meaningless now; how the hell could they help them now? Cynthia was the one they were referring to, but Rose was a different story. Barry was beginning to believe she was beyond salvation, the Dark Presence had dug its claws into her so deep. He'd read in _Departure _that Alan too had been touched by the Dark Presence, but he hadn't gone over the deep end as she had. _Maybe people respond differently to the darkness? _It seemed a logical explanation for her behavior, but then again, what was logic when it came to the darkness? What was sane? What was free will when everything was tied to the events in a single manuscript?

"Penny for your thoughts, Wheeler?" Sarah asked.

"I'm just scared that this is all going to go down to shit," he said. "Last year, it was only pure chance and luck that we were able to put this thing to rest—but now? I really don't know if we stand a chance." _Without Alan or the Winchesters, who the hell knows where this is going to go? _The words hung in the air between them, unspoken. Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but closed it, clenching her jaw. She didn't look in his direction.

"We'll figure this out," she answered after several moments. The earth groaned beneath them as a shrill howl echoed throughout the night; the tremor was so strong that it almost caused her to veer off the road. In the far distance, Barry saw a black tornado in the heart of the woods as trees dropped like dead flies almost in a domino-effect. "It's getting stronger," she said, hitting the gas pedal. "We're almost there; 20 minutes at the most." Barry nodded in response. _Please, Al, wherever the hell you are, we need your help. _

* * *

Sam wasn't sure how much longer he would last. He wasn't coughing up a lung nor vomiting blood at the moment, but he was losing a lot of blood. There was no time to stop and tend to his wounds; if he dared let his guard down, there was the strong chance of being ambushed by Taken. The only things keeping him alive were his weapons and will to survive. If anything, he knew that death would take him—but not today. Too much was at stake. He didn't know how long he'd been limping until, up ahead, a blinding flash of light manifested. For a moment, he couldn't help but remember his dream. Was the Light Presence trying to aid him, or was it something else?

_Why would Heaven be interested in this fight with the Dark Presence? _"Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone there? Show yourself!"

_I am trying to help you, Samuel, _the entity answered, _as I am trying to help your brother. _It was only then that it dawned upon him. This was the same presence that had come to him in his dream before he and Dean had come to Bright Falls.

"Is Dean okay?" he asked, half-running and half-limping towards the light. "Is my brother okay?"

_Yes. Your brother…he's okay. _

"What…what are you? Who are you?" Sam pressed. "Why are you—why did you visit me in my dream?"

_My name is Thomas Zane. I'm the one who came to you and your brother before you came to Bright Falls. _

"But why?"

_You and your brother are the only ones that can stop it. I fought it, but at a price, as did the Andersons and Alan Wake. _

"How are we supposed to stop this thing?" he demanded. "It's not going by a manuscript, but a painting! It's not bound to chronological events." _What happened to them?_

_Remember what I told you when I first came to you, _said Zane. _Everything must have a balance. _

"I don't understand! None of this is making any sense." The light faded. Sam could only hope that Zane would contact—no, had contacted—Dean to let him know that he was alive. _But there's the possibility that he may be dead, _his inner voice whispered to him. _It isn't like him to ignore your calls. _ He prayed that Dean was still out there. Maybe, just maybe, their paths would intersect somewhere in the midst of the brewing chaos. He was snapped out of his trance when a shriek pierced the air; he looked skywards just in time to see a black vortex form above him. _Oh, shit. _A funnel descended from the vortex; from what he could tell, it was heading in his general direction. The funnel touched the ground, and the world became a mixture of darkness and destruction.

Sam took off running, trying to ignore the sharp stabs of pain shooting up his legs. It'd take some time for his wounds to heal; Cass wasn't here to heal him. Not this time. His only consolation was that Dean wasn't with him to experience this fresh terror with him.

* * *

It'd felt as if it'd been weeks, but Alan knew better. Time didn't exist in the Dark Place, just darkness. He stared at the manuscript; it was the key to his freedom.

_The House of Dreams _

_By Alan Wake_

He knew it was a gamble; the Dark Place took pieces of art—whether they be paintings, songs, literature—and made them come true. Everything he wrote would happen here, but he had no way of knowing if it would impact reality—but he had to take that chance. He had no other choice. Alan stuffed the manuscript in his jacket pocket, grabbed his weapon and flashlight, and journeyed into the everlasting night.


	9. Ghosts

It seemed like he was walking into eternal oblivion. Alan knew the Dark Presence was now twisting the events in the manuscript to its own ends, taking advantage of any loopholes, so it could prevent him from escaping. No matter what it did in the real world, it would manipulate any works of art created in the Dark Place, almost like insurance if he tried to write himself a way out. He'd fought the Dark Presence before; for an entire year, he'd fought and survived the Dark Place. _There's no turning back now. _He drew his revolver, quickly reloading it. The Dark Presence would send swarms of Taken after him, he knew. It knew what he was doing, just as it always did. He could feel it in the air, surrounding him, suffocating him with its force. It'd never been like this before. The darkness was strong, yes, but not like this. When it'd resurfaced last year, it hadn't gotten this bad. And it scared the hell out of him.

He could feel the power of the manuscript around him; it wasn't overwhelming like the Dark Presence was, but it was there. Stray words floated about his surroundings; they'd changed abruptly from Night Springs to the ghostly, devastated Bright Falls his subconscious had created upon his completion of _Departure. _He shone his flashlight upon the word _weapons_, and the word burst into sparks, a hunting rifle and some ammo manifesting where the word had once been. The writer quickly grabbed the rifle and restocked it with the ammunition. _I'm going to need all the firepower I can get, _he thought to himself. _There is now way the Dark Presence is going to make this easy for me. _He'd written his escape from the Dark Place and tried to ensure that there were absolutely no loopholes that the Dark Presence could take advantage of, and it'd been tedious work. There was no way of knowingif this was true—that there were no ambiguities —unless he worked his way through the text. It was the catch-22 of his circumstances; if he tried to escape without a roadmap, there was a strong chance he wouldn't make it through this alive. With the manuscript, he had a fighting chance; the Dark Presence would be tied to the events the writing depicted. His main concern was whether or not it would affect the real world. _You'll cross that bridge when you come to it, Wake, _he told himself. _Right now, let's just focus on getting the hell out of dodge. _The writer looked up into the sky, hoping and praying for a glimpse into the world that was his home. There was nothing but withering shadows. Whatever the hell was going on out there, the Dark Presence wasn't yet strong enough to completely leave the Dark Place. Not yet. He was snapped out of his reverie when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he whirled around, flashlight and revolver ready to fire only to find—

"Dad?!" he exclaimed, reluctant to lower his guard. "Fucking hell, why are you here?" Nathaniel Wake offered him a weak smile. Alan wanted to believe his father wasn't a figment of his imagination nor a ploy created by the Dark Presence, but he knew better than to trust anyone in the Dark Place. His father had abandoned him in his early childhood; he only knew him through old family photos and his mother's stories. To him, Nathaniel Wake was nothing more than a ghost of his past—a ghost he'd never imagined he would have to confront. He was torn between fury, his unresolved and conflicted feelings towards his father threatening to consume him, and gratefulness that the man had taken the time to show himself to him for the first time in years. Why would he come forward here and now, of all times?

"You wrote it," Nathaniel answered.

"I never—I never wrote for _your_ help!" Alan said angrily. "I never wrote_ you_ into the story! How am I supposed to know if I'm not finally going insane after all the shit I've been through?"

"You're not crazy, Alan," the vision of his father said calmly. "You wrote me here, but you just don't realize it."

"I don't have time for this shit," he growled, pushing himself past him.

"Do you want to go back home, son?" asked his father pointedly. Alan shot him a venomous glare; real or not, he didn't want anything to do with the man who was his father. The man who had fucking left him and his mom with no given explanation, no goodbye, _nothing. _He was a familiar stranger to him; he had no dad. The only people he could depend on were Alice, Barry, Sarah, and himself.

"_Why the hell do you even have to ask_?" Alan nearly shouted. He could feel the atmosphere changing; the Dark Place was shifting again, and he was a sitting duck, fighting with the apparition of his father. "Fuck this bullshit. I'm doing this alone." He stormed off, not daring to look back. _He's not really here, you fucking idiot, _he told himself. _Just like when you thought you saw Barry, it turned out to be your subconscious at war with itself. Just move the hell on. _

"You can't do this alone and you know it." Standing before him was Nathaniel Wake, a grim expression on his face. "Are you in, or are you out?"

* * *

Dean's lungs were burning, his body screaming for rest. He didn't know how long he'd been running, but he was fairly certain he'd manage to lose the Taken. No longer could he hear the rabid barking and growling of the Taken bitches nor the mad rambling of the Taken citizens, but he knew that he wasn't safe in the woods. There was the possibility that hordes of Taken were located here, and the Dark Presence was getting more and more powerful. He could sense it, feel it in the atmosphere. Bright Falls would soon be overridden by darkness if he didn't put an end to this shit soon. Dean stopped in his tracks, gradually catching his breath. There would be no use in roaming the woods; he would only get lost and most likely beaten to death by a Taken. Death was easy, peaceful even, but he couldn't afford the luxury, not while Sam was possibly still alive. Finding Sammy was his only priority; hell, he would let the world burn if it meant finding him again. His intuition was telling him his brother had survived the attack on the sheriff statin, but another part of him was almost convinced he was gone.

_Sammy's gone to Hell and back, _he reminded himself, _and survived. He's endured almost everything we've been through. He just may've made it through this, regardless of his condition. _Despite his misgivings about the trials and worry about his brother, he believed in him. Sam was, if anything, a survivor and a fighter. Dean envied his ability to see the good that would come out of their lives after the trials were over. All he knew was that he would die with a gun in his hand, while Sam would settle down, get married and build a family. Sam had never wanted this life, the hunter's life, and it was this that was driving him to complete the trials and bring an end to it all for good. Dean understood this more than anything; he had wanted a normal life with a wife and children…once. Living with Lisa and Ben had only proved to him that, as deeply as he desired a domestic life, he would never be a good husband nor father. He was terrified of becoming his father; he was no John Winchester, and he never would—

Dean lost his train of thought when he saw some flashing lights up ahead that were heading in his general path. They looked like the lights of a police car; perhaps it was Sheriff Breaker? He tore through the woods, determined to reach the source of the lights before they passed him by. He could've sworn he faintly heard the mindless ramblings of Taken, but he didn't plan on staying to find out. Even if there were Taken lurking in the woods, he couldn't fight them all. He only had a few rounds of ammunition. _C'mon, _he prayed, _please let it be the sheriff. _If anything, he couldn't tell any other given member of the law enforcement the truth of what was happening. He'd be locked up, and he wouldn't be able to find Sam nor fight the darkness. When he finally reached the street, he froze just as the vehicle stopped mere inches away from him. The driver and passenger climbed out, bewildered. Dean felt a wave of relief washing over him.

"Dean?!" Sarah exclaimed. "How are you—what happened? Where's Sam?"

"We thought you were dead!" interjected Barry. "I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, things are getting bad, and not just here in Bright Falls."

"One thing at a time!" said Dean impatiently. "After Sam forced me out the door, I just ran. I couldn't stay, as much as I wanted to, and—what the hell do you mean by things are getting bad, Barry?" Barry looked as if he didn't want to delve into the details, and this only aggravated the hunter. "What. The hell. Is. Happening. Outside of town?" he demanded. "Tell me."

"The darkness, it's…goddammit, it's reached different parts of the world. It's becoming worldwide, Dean," Barry explained shakily. "It's all over the news. Entire cities are being destroyed, some overrun by Taken and others collapsing. It's like it's the apocalypse!"

"Oh my God," he murmured. "This was exactly what I was afraid of."

"It's going by what was depicted in the painting, Dean," said Sarah gravely. "The more open-ended things are, the more freedom it has to do what it needs to do. It didn't have the freedom it does now when it used Wake's manuscript."

"So, how're we going to stop it?" Barry questioned.

"_We _are not doing anything until we find Sam," Dean said curtly. "He might still be alive; I'm not leaving him out there to become a Taken, or worse."

"How do you know?" she pressed. "How do you know if your brother is still alive?" Dean felt his temper flare at her words.

"You don't know anything about my little brother," he snapped. "He's alive, and we're not doing any-fucking-thing until we find him."

"Are you honestly willing to let the Dark Presence—oh, I don't know—_raze the world_ just so we can find Sam?" Barry demanded.

"He's my _brother_, Barry," said Dean, "and the only family I have left! Why is _that so goddamned difficult_ for you to understand?"

"There's a lot more at stake here than just your brother's life, Dean," Sarah informed him. "If we just stand idly by, the Dark Presence will cover the world in darkness. We can't prioritize one life over millions upon millions—and I think we both know that. I know you're worried about him, but we need to get our priorities straight." Dean just stared at her. She didn't understand; how could she? When Sam had died at Cold Oak, he'd been utterly helpless to do anything to save him. The pain of losing him had been crippling and too much to bear, his entire world crashing down on him. When Sam had descended into Hell, Lucifer and Michael in tow, he'd been shattered beyond repair. All those times he'd reassured Lisa he was happy, it had been a lie. How the hell would Sarah—let alone _Barry_—sympathize?

"What are you more afraid of, Winchester?" she pressed. "Losing, or losing your brother?"

* * *

Zane could feel his power dwindling, as the Dark Presence only became stronger. It shook him to the core, knowing that this time, he couldn't aid the Winchesters nor the writer. The Dark Presence was fighting to keep him in the lake, and as much as he fought, he was fighting a losing battle. There needed to be a balance between the Light and the Dark; the ending of _Departure_ had failed in doing so. It had given the Dark Presence another face to wear as it tried to touch another artist. It had turned the young waitress into a madwoman. The Clicker hadn't been powerful enough to rid the world of it once and for all. Nothing had gone the way it should have; the world was now at the mercy of the Dark Presence.

_Barbara, I'm sorry. For everything, _he thought. _I never wanted this. _

* * *

The Dark Presence knew Alan Wake was a fighter and determined to escape the Dark Place, but it hadn't been expecting him to write another manuscript to free himself. It'd plunged the writer into the endless nightmare it'd fabricated for him. It made him see his wife become its new vessel. It made him see her die over and over again as he watched helplessly. It made him fight and doubt himself and almost surrender to madness. He didn't know what it was truly capable of. When it had resurfaced last year, Bright Falls had only a mere glimpse, a small taste, of its power before the writer had destroyed its vessel with the Clicker and written it back into the Dark Place. Things were different now. The writer had completely underestimated the Dark Presence in creating another manuscript, and he would see the damage soon.


	10. Return

_What are you more afraid of, Winchester? Losing, or losing your brother? _Dean knew he couldn't answer that question; he never would be able to. He couldn't help but remember Bobby asking him the same question after obtaining the rings of the Four Horsemen; even then, he hadn't been capable of giving an answer. Being faced with the same, impossible, daunting question now, nothing had changed. If anything, he was terrified of the possibility of losing Sam, if he hadn't lost him already. He couldn't afford to lose anyone else, not after Bobby's sudden death last year, but Sarah and Barry didn't need to know the hell that was his life story.

"We're wasting our time with this shit," he said shortly. _The longer we just sit here, the worse things are going to get. The worse Sammy is going to get if we don't find him. _

"Then what the fuck do you want to do?" Barry demanded. "In case you forgot, Dean, we're in the middle of a war that will probably deep fry the planet if we don't do something!" Dean felt his temper spark again. Did Barry honestly expect him to know how to defeat the Dark Presence? He wasn't Alan! The Clicker was lost to the world, and the Dark Presence was causing chaos and devastation all over the world on an apocalyptic scale.

"I know what's going on, Wheeler," the hunter said menacingly. "I know what's at stake—"

"Do you?" he shot back. "Because, this entire time, your only concern has been for Sam! Sarah said it herself: _There's a lot more at stake here than your brother's life. _Why the hell won't you see that?" Dean's fists were clenched at his sides; his nails were digging into his palms and causing him to bleed. It was taking all his self-control not to lose his temper. _United we stand, divided we fall. _"It's like you're more than willing to let the Dark Presence win if it means finding your brother."

"I'm not going to sit here and debate this w—" A roar pierced the air, the earth moaning beneath their feet. The wind picked up, and Dean could feel the Dark Presence shifting its gaze upon him. It wasn't Barry nor Sarah it wanted; it was after him. There was the sound of footsteps nearby; Sarah quickly armed herself. If they were being ambushed by Taken, they had to be ready.

"Who's there?" she called out. Silence. They heard twigs snapping, and then a figure stepped out from the shadows. The man was not a Taken, but when Dean looked into his eyes, there was a crazed look about him.

"Oh my…holy shit," murmured Sarah. "Alan?"

"Wait, Alan Wake?" Dean exclaimed, lowering his gun. "I'll be damned." Alan smiled at them, but it was more of a smirk, a knowing smirk. _Something's off. _

"I'm back from the dead," he said, "but I was never really dead, though."

"Where have you been, Al?" asked Barry. "The world thinks you're dead." Alan shook his head and gave a laugh, a short and cold chuckle. "Al? Are you…okay?" Dean tried making eye contact with Sarah, but she was too focused on Alan. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong about him.

"Oh, I'm just _fine._" Alan outstretched his palm, and Barry and Sarah went flying backwards. Shadows shrouded his body, and he turned his attention to Dean. With a mere flick of his hand, his revolver shot out of his hands.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded.

"I'm Alan Wake," he responded smugly, "the new and improved Alan, anyway." He smirked slightly. "I've decided to be nice today and spare those two for now. I like you, Dean."

"How the hell do you know who I am?"

"I've been watching you from the moment you arrived here in this shitty excuse for a town. I was planning on bathing this place in its own blood, but…the show's just started, buddy." He laughed. His laugh made Dean's blood run cold. It was the laugh of a madman; cold, and on the edge of insanity. "I'm just here to spice things up a bit." In his peripheral vision, Dean saw the sheriff and Wheeler lying unconscious.

"I suggest you get the hell out of my sight before I decorate the ground with your brains," he warned. Alan's facial expression quickly changed from a dangerous calm to murderous rage. His eyes were ablaze. Dean felt as if his windpipe was being crushed; he collapsed onto his knees, dropping his weapons, clutching at his throat and desperately gasping for oxygen.

Alan reached for the gun on the ground, before slamming it across his face. The last thing Dean saw was his wild, gleeful smile before everything went black.

* * *

Looking behind him, Sam could see the trail of destruction the tornado was leaving in its wake. Debris was being thrown about the woods; he'd narrowly avoided being hit by a train car, a bus, and a gasoline truck trying to escape the Dark Presence's sudden onslaught. He was a great distance away from it now, but it still haunted him. For a brief moment, he couldn't help but wonder if Dean was okay—if he was still alive. Had Zane spoken with him? If he knew his brother was alive…

_Don't get your hopes up, Sam, _he told himself. He couldn't call Dean or vice versa; his phone was most likely dead. All he could do was hope he was okay and try to make his way to him. Sam looked about him, taking in his surroundings. He was in the middle of the street; destroyed cars and other debris—presumably from the twister—were scattered everywhere. It was an unsettling sight, the dead silence hanging in the atmosphere. Sam couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The tremors were becoming more and more profound, the tornados more frequent. He swore he could feel the Dark Presence in the atmosphere, but perhaps it was only his growing apprehension. He had to find his way back to town and figure out his next move. Sheriff Breaker and Wheeler, he knew, had escaped the Dark Presence's assault on the station. They had to still be out there. _Dean_ had to still be out there. He knew they couldn't fight the Dark Presence on their own, and he knew that Zane couldn't help them. Alan was dead. It was already turning into a losing battle. Up ahead, Sam could see the beckoning lights of the town. They promised safety and replenishment; maybe he could find a phone and try to contact Sheriff Breaker. In his peripheral vision, he spotted the Impala, lying on the side of the road. He climbed into the car, fired up the engine, and sped towards the heart of Bright Falls.

When he finally made it into town, he was surprised to see cop cars speeding down the street, a chopper just up ahead. _What the hell is going on?_ He climbed out of the car, anda pit dropped in Sam's stomach when it dawned upon him. They'd gotten reports of "terrorist activities" and were allegedly after a crime ring, not a monstrous presence. He had to contact Sheriff Breaker; she was the only one who would be able to halt their intervention before the Dark Presence killed them all, but there was no way he could call her or vice versa. _This has to work, _he prayed, and whipped out his cell phone, dialing 911.

"Bright Falls Sheriff Station, what's your emergency?" the operator asked him. Sam was surprised to receive a response; the building had been consumed and destroyed by the Dark Presence. _The survivors must be trying to keep things running, _he thought to himself. _It's only luck that they aren't dead nor Taken. _

"I need to speak with Sheriff Breaker," said Sam. "It's urgent."

"Sheriff Breaker isn't here at the station," she responded. "She's out on duty at the moment—" Sam swore quietly to himself.

"Radio her, then!" he nearly shouted. "_Your backup is going to get themselves killed out there unless I can talk to her_!" His words were drowned out as a screech pierced the air. The earth sighed, and trees fell like dominoes. Shadows swept over an abandoned vehicle, and it rose into the air, twitching spastically. The car was cloaked in darkness, and with impossible force, it lurched at him. He threw himself out of the way with a shout, just barely missing the crushing blow.

"Sir, sir, are you alright? What's going on?"

"Radio Sheriff Breaker, and tell her that her backup is going on a suicide intervention! If they try to fight this thing, _they are going to die_!"

"Sir—"

"Trust me on this!" Sam barked. "Tell her that it's Sam Winchester and warn her about her backup." He killed the connection, stuffing his phone back into his pocket just as the car hurled itself at him once again. Sam drew his flashlight, aiming the beam of light at the possessed vehicle, burning away the darkness that protected it before it disappeared entirely. _What the hell was that? _

* * *

Alan stared at his father, several emotions swirling inside him. _Are you in, or are you out? _His intuition was telling him that trusting Nathaniel was his only way out of the Dark Place. He'd written himself an ally to help him, but he hadn't been expecting his friend to take the shape of his father. When Barry had manifested, it had been a figment of his own mind. It was the only plausible explanation for Nathaniel's presence. At the same time, Alan was consumed by anger towards his father for abandoning him and his mother with no explanation. Not once had he contacted them in the years after his departure. For so long, the man had been dead to him. A man who was so afraid of facing his family and mistakes that he deserted them. He'd feigned nonchalance in an attempt to bury his feelings, but now it was all rushing back to him in one emotion: anger and resentment. It didn't matter that his father's appearance was a manifestation of his own inner turmoil. Real or not, he couldn't face the man. He didn't think he would ever be able to if they crossed paths in the real world.

"Alan, answer the question," his father said, breaking through his reverie. "Are you with me, or not?" He met his eyes, unflinching. "I'm your only chance to get out of this place, and we both know it."

Alan hesitated. He couldn't deny the truth in his father's words. When he'd seen Barry, Barry had turned out to be his enemy who needed to be eliminated. There was no way he'd know if Nathaniel was of the same nature. If there was anything he'd learned in the Dark Place, it was to kill or be killed. He'd wanted to trust the manifestation of Barry, but it had almost cost him his life. If he made another error of judgment, he might not make it out of the Dark Place alive. He couldn't bring himself to fully trust Nathaniel, but did he have any other options? He had written himself a companion who knew the way through the Dark Place and could help him work his way through the manuscript. Regardless of his bitterness towards Nathaniel, he knew it would be pointless to go against the events portrayed in his manuscript. He had to force aside his animosity if he was to make his way back home. Something terrible was happening in the real world, and he had to get out of here so he could do something about it.

"I'm in," he said after several moments of silence.

"Do you trust me?" Nathaniel pressed. "If I'm getting you out of here, I'm going to need you to trust me completely."

"I trust that you will help me escape this place," Alan said coolly, "but no, I don't trust you. Not completely. You deserted me and Mom for no reason, Dad, and didn't bother to at least explain why you were leaving or say goodbye. It's been decades with no phone calls, no letters, nothing."

"I had my reasons, Alan."

"I'm sure you did," he said sourly. "Forget it, let's just find the way out of here."

"You're not escaping this place," a voice said from behind them. Alan and Nathaniel whirled around to see none other than Mr. Scratch.

"I thought I destroyed you," Alan growled, his gun raised. "How the hell are you even here?" Scratch smiled his devilish smile, clearly relishing Alan's anger and horror.

"Darkness works in great ways, buddy," he responded, and chuckled. "You know, I gave everyone quite the surprise. That little pest of yours, Barry Wheeler? You should've seen the look on his face, the sheriff's too."

"Stay the hell away from them."

"Oh, don't worry. I should be the least of your concerns," Scratch continued, circling Alan and his father. "Big Daddy's back in business, and there's nothing you can fucking do about it."

_ Big Daddy? _A fresh wave of horror washed over him. Was he referring to the Dark Presence? _No, no, no. This can't be happening. _

"I killed you once," warned Alan. "I can do it again."

"We'll see about that." Instantly, the world exploded into shadows and darkness and everything went black.

* * *

"Sheriff Breaker, do you copy? Over!"

Silence.

"I repeat, do you copy over!"

Barry's head was pounding from the impact of slamming into the tree. He rose to his hands and knees and crawled over to Sarah, who was still unconscious. _I'm probably going to regret this. _He fumbled for her handheld transceiver and said, "It's Barry Wheeler. I'm with Sarah right now, but she's out cold."

"Fuck!" the woman on the other line barked.

"What's wrong?" Barry asked. "Why do you need Sheriff Breaker?"

"I need her to relay a message to the rest of the force," she explained.

"A message from whom?" he pressed.

"A man named Sam Winchester. Why does it matter to you?" Barry let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. _Okay, okay. Sam's alive. _

"Forget I—" He cut himself off when he heard the sound of ravens cawing. Dreading what was to come, he looked up ahead to see a flock of ravens swarming the chopper. The chopper reared violently, and the birds came at it again. Barry watched in shock as the birds assaulted the helicopter, and after mere moments, the chopper rapidly lost altitude. He thought he could feel the impact of the crash as it burst into a ball of flames. He didn't have time to recollect himself from the shock of the impact, as an unseen force caused the ground to shake and a black funnel touched the ground, sweeping up the police cars on the road and flinging them about. "Holy shit." The twister was much larger than any other he'd seen before, and it scared the hell out of him. _How much stronger can this thing get? _

"What is it?" she asked.

"I think your backup just got killed in action," Barry stammered.


	11. Reunited

Everything was obscured in darkness. Dean could feel the cords digging into his ankles and wrists, and it took a moment for him to realize he was bound to a chair with a bag over his head. _Son of a bitch! _he cursed to himself. His only consolation was that Sarah, Wheeler and Sam were okay; Alan—no, the guy who was wearing his face—was sparing them for whatever twisted reasons he had, and was on a rampage while the Dark Presence made itself known to the world. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the sound of footsteps drawing closer to him, and the hood was yanked off his head.

"Rise and shine!" Alan barked. "Time to face the night!"

"Oh, I'll face the night," the hunter said coldly, "as soon as I put a bullet in your head." His reply was met with the sharp sting of Alan's palm striking him across the face, whipping his head to the side. Quickly taking in his surroundings, he realized they were in a vacated motel room. By the looks of it, it hadn't been inhabited for weeks. _I need to dispatch this bastard, catch up with the others before shit hits the fan more than it already has. _

"You remind me of someone," Alan remarked.

"Oh, really?" responded Dean sarcastically. "Who? The poor bastard you're wearing as your meat-suit?"

"Alan Wake. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes what I've done and what the boss has been cooking up." He laughed in delight. Dean was shocked; if this bastard wasn't Alan, who the hell was he? _What _was he? There was no way he could be a shape-shifter nor a demon. Judging by his words, all he knew was that he was a servant of the Dark Presence, not the darkness itself. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're even here," the dark man continued. "You see, buddy, it's been a while—too long, to be frank—since I've had blood on my hands. This shitty little town, well, I'm going to be nice and let Big Daddy do the work. Any survivors will get what's coming to them, and let me tell you, I'm going to tear them apart. Piece by piece by piece. This town will be drowning in its own blood by the time I'm done with everyone."

"You're a sick piece of shit, you know that?" Dean had met some horrific killers in his time as a hunter, but not quite like this. He understood demons, but people were—could be—just as sickening. This guy, he was no demon but it was clear he was not human. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"You can call me Mr. Scratch," he said. He reached into his pocket, drawing a bandanna, before walking behind him. "I know what you're thinking: _If you're here, where's Alan?_" He jammed the scarf into Dean's mouth, tying it around his head. "The guy's alive, alright. He's just trapped at the bottom of Cauldron Lake."

_Cauldron Lake? _Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. What the hell was going on in this town? First the Dark Presence, and now something was up with the lake? _Fucking hell, this town is crazy. _How in the hell was Alan even still alive if he was imprisoned in the lake? Dean shook his head. It was more than clear now that he and Sam didn't know what they were dealing with. Alan, Sheriff Breaker and Wheeler had fought the Dark Presence before, but he was beginning to wonder if they truly understood what they were going up against. Cities were collapsing, continents and countries crumbling or being infested with Taken. Thousands, if not millions, of lives were lost, others overcome by the Dark Presence.

"Mmmph! Mmmph!" he tried shouting through the scarf. "Mmmph!" Scratch grabbed the hood, throwing it over his head again. He felt the sharp sting of a needle in his neck, his cry of pain muffled by the gag. He fought against his binds, his attempts in vain.

"Don't fight it," Scratch purred. "It's just a dose of venom from a king cobra with enough anti-venom to keep you alive. I'll be back." Dean squirmed about, desperately fighting the cords binding him to the chair. A searing, fiery pain engulfed him suddenly; he felt as if he were being burned from the inside out. He screamed in agony; after enduring 40 years in Hell, he didn't think he would endure this kind of pain again. For a moment, he couldn't help but remember how Alastair had carved, sliced, and burned him for 30 years before he had succumbed to his offer to get off the rack, tormenting other souls as he had been. _Burning in Hell would be better than this, _he thought dryly. _Mr. Scratch makes Alastair look like a fucking angel. _He gritted his teeth, trying to rein in his screams. His only consolation was that Scratch didn't know about his brother. There was not a single doubt in his mind that Scratch would go after Sam, given the chance.

* * *

When Sam saw the twister sweep up the cop cars on the road, his heart sank. "Goddammit!" he shouted in frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, taking several deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down. Quickly, he climbed back into the Impala, driving towards the destruction the tempest was leaving in its wake. Sam knew it was crazy and stupid to go into the heart of the devastation, but he needed to reach Sheriff Breaker to see if she was okay and regroup with her and Barry. He knew Dean was out there somewhere; perhaps their paths would intersect soon. _Please be okay, _he prayed. Deep shit was going down here in Bright Falls; who knew how much longer it would be before the Dark Presence was at its strongest?

The twister dissipated suddenly; in the near distance, Sam could see the wreckage of the cop cars and chopper. He hit the brakes, swinging the door open and running into the remains. Everything was mangled; remnants of the helicopter were scattered about, broken glass stained with blood. The vehicles were beyond recognition, crushed from the impact of the fall. A limp arm hung out from a broken window, bloody and battered. Sam rushed over to the vehicle, crouching down to see if the passenger was okay. She was bloody and unconscious. He checked for a pulse; nothing.

"Deputy Scott, do you copy? It's Sheriff Breaker! Over! I repeat, do you copy?" Sam reached for her handheld transceiver before backing away from the dead deputy and rising to his feet.

"It's Sam," he responded. "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," Sheriff Breaker reported. "Wheeler told me that back at the station, someone was trying to relay a message from you to me. What is it?"

"Your deputies went after the Dark Presence; I think they thought it was a terrorist group or something after getting a few reports," Sam explained. "I—"

"Dammit," she cursed. She sighed in frustration. "Where are you?"

"I'm downtown," he said.

"Okay. We'll meet you there and talk more." The connection ended, and Sam hurried back to the Impala, speeding back to town. He reached for his cell phone and turned on the GPS signal on his brother's phone. They both had GPS chips in their phones, so they'd be able to find each other more easily in certain circumstances. He speed-dialed Dean's number, only to receive his voicemail recording.

"Dammit, Dean," he muttered. He was starting to worry about him; surely Dean would have found a way to either charge his phone or find another so he could call him. The only other possibilities were that he was too deep in the woods to get a signal, or something had happened to him. Sam didn't want to think of the possibility that the Dark Presence had gotten to him, but he had no way of knowing if he was even still alive. _Stop, just stop, thinking about it. You don't have a plan. _All he knew for certain was that after he regrouped with Sheriff Breaker and Wheeler, then they'd figure out their next move. A part of him wanted to strike out, fight back against the Dark Presence. Another part of him didn't want to do anything until he found Dean. _Just talk this over with the sheriff before you do anything, _he told himself. _A lot can go wrong, and right now, you can't afford that. _He parked the Impala on the side of the road before getting out. There was a heavy feeling in the atmosphere; Sam didn't remember it being so late at night, let alone so dark. All he could think of was the Dark Presence. He could feel it everywhere, and he felt he was open to attack. Shadows stirred, the wind picking up. The moon was obscured by darkness; it was as if the Dark Presence was slowly beginning to consume everything in its path.

Sam heard the ending wails of the siren of a cop car, and looked up to see Sheriff Breaker cautiously maneuvering her way over to him. She parked her vehicle before she and Barry got out. Through the window, Sam could see a young woman in the backseat, her eyes completely glazed over. She appeared to be mumbling nonsense. It hit him, then.

"Sheriff Breaker, what's Rose doing here?" he asked.

"We were on our way to the power plant when she blindly wandered out in the middle of the road," she explained. "We couldn't leave her to die."

"Sam," interjected Barry, "it's getting bad. Have you had a chance to listen to the news?" He shook his head, and a cold feeling settled itself in his stomach. It had to be about the Dark Presence. It was getting stronger, and a part of him dreaded what he would find in the reports. He shook his head in response.

"No. Barry, what the hell are you telling me?" pressed Sam. "Are you saying the Dark Presence is reaching all over the world?"

"Shit has officially hit the fan!" he said. "It'd be a miracle, or just sheer luck, if we can stop the darkness. Again." He groaned in frustrated anger. "Fucking Christ, I swear this entire situation would be a hell of a lot easier if we had Al with us." Sam felt a stab of sympathy for Barry. He could tell how deeply he missed his best friend, needed him. The hunter's life would be too much for him, he knew. He and Dean had buried almost everyone they cared for; all they had were each other. After this was over, he hoped that Barry and Sheriff Breaker wouldn't be involved in anything of this sort again. He couldn't help but think of how his life, his family, had been torn apart because of hunting and his father's obsession with avenging their mother's murder. Sheriff Breaker, she was no hunter. Neither was Barry. If anything, Sam didn't want it for them. For anyone. He was more than certain that hunters all over the world were looking into and fighting the Dark Presence now that it was reaching different parts of the globe. _This battle is turning into a war, _he thought to himself. _Right now, it seems we're losing the war when it's only just begun. _


	12. Confrontations

Alan's body ached as he rose to his feet. Nathaniel lay a few feet away from him, stirring. _I should've known Mr. Scratch wasn't gone for good, _he thought bitterly to himself. _Dammit. I need to get out of here. _

"Dad! Dad, are you okay?" he asked, rushing over to him. Nathaniel picked himself up, nodding. He looked around them. Their surroundings hadn't changed yet; they were still in a devastated Bright Falls, but they could feel the instability of the Dark Place. It was shifting constantly, and it couldn't stay still. Alan couldn't help but remember how Taken frequently attacked him during his first few months here. He wasn't safe in the Dark Place. Nobody was. Even to this day, he still couldn't fathom the terrors Alice had seen during her time here. _Going to Bright Falls was a mistake. We never should have come. _

"_What the hell was that_?" his father demanded.

"That was Mr. Scratch," Alan explained. "I thought I'd gotten rid of the bastard, but apparently he isn't that easy to get rid of." He ran a hand over his face. "We need to get out of here. He said that the Dark Presence has come back, and god-fucking-dammit…this is bad. This is really, really bad." This was different than what'd happened in Bright Falls last year. He'd been able to write the darkness back into the lake, back into the Dark Place, but his efforts hadn't been enough. The ending to _Departure _had failed in bringing an end to the war between the forces of Light and Dark, and he feared what he would find once he returned home.

"Alan, you wrote yourself a way out of this place," said Nathaniel. "You wrote me into this story. Any works created here come true here. That is the key to your escape. Come on, we should get going." He met his son's eyes. There was a strong, unwavering determination, but also fear and anger and doubt. His jaw clenched, and he looked away before following him into the night.

* * *

Something wasn't right. Alan could feel it. The Taken seemed to be in…hibernation; it'd been what felt like months since they last attacked him. The Dark Place was changing relentlessly. The shifts were becoming more profound, and he thought he could see glimpses of the Dark Presence through the window of the lake. A part of him desperately wanted to believe Scratch's words, his claim that the Dark Presence had truly resurfaced, were nothing but fabricated lies, but he knew the truth. Scratch hadn't been lying to him. The Dark Presence had arisen once again, but this time, things had changed. He wasn't sure why nor how, but he had to put an end to this madness before it was too late. Bright Falls had almost been completely consumed by darkness when he had battled the Dark Presence for the first time. He had come close, too close, to losing Alice to the Dark Presence. Desperately, he prayed she was okay…wherever she may be. She'd fallen victim to the Dark Presence before; once he got back home, he would make sure she was still okay before he did anything else.

"Dad, there is absolutely no way there is simply a portal for me to walk into so I can swim out of the lake," he said. "The manuscript is the only thing allowing me to get out."

"Bird Leg Cabin, Alan," his father explained. "The cabin is the key." _The cabin? _

"How? The cabin was destroyed. After I got out, it sank beneath the waters." Nathaniel turned to him.

"Bird Leg Cabin was destroyed in the eruption," he went on, "but you can will it to become real again. The written word is your weapon. The pen is mightier than the sword. The pen_ is_ the sword." During his time here in the Dark Place, he had forged weapons of war out of ideas. His gun and flashlight were a necessity in order to survive. It was kill, or be killed. The Dark Presence could only be fought with light; anything else would be futile.

"What the hell are you saying? All I have to do is will the cabin into existence?" Alan demanded, reeling from Nathaniel's words.

"You have the manuscript with you, don't you?" Nathaniel asked. Alan nodded. "The cabin is your way out of here—and to get there, we have to go back."

"Back? Back where?"

"This place is becoming increasingly unstable," he went on. "Right now, it's taking the shape of Bright Falls. We need to get to Cauldron Lake and into the cabin. You'll know what to do from there." Alan's mind was reeling, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. History was repeating itself. _Cauldron Lake is the key to everything, _he thought. _It made _Departure _come true, as it did with Zane's poetry and the Andersons' music. _Although the lake in the Dark Place was only a manifestation of the Dark Presence, it was bound to have the same abilities as the actual lake did in the real world. It had to, otherwise he was screwed. He couldn't rewrite _The House of Dreams_; the laws of reality and creation weren't flexible. They were absolute and unchangeable. Alan tended to think of them as the physics of creation, and creation was much more dangerous than he could have thought possible. The Dark Place responded to the energies of genuine acts of creation, whether they be the written word, music or interpretive dance. He had come to realize that Bright Falls wasn't the only place in the world where the reality's border was fragile between that and of the Dark Place. Perhaps many other artists around the world had chanced upon the Dark Presence and had fought it once, were fighting it even now. The Dark Presence only dwelled in Bright Falls, but the threat it posed was omnipresent; the lines between fiction and reality could blur anywhere in the world in just the right place. _It's not a lake. It's an ocean. _It was an ocean of darkness, lurking and waiting for a taste of freedom and power. _Unless I can put an end to this for good, nobody will ever be truly safe from the Dark Presence. _Bright Falls was in the heart of the storm; there was no way it stood a chance against the Dark Presence's fury.

"Let's go," said Alan. "I can't afford to waste any time." Alan spotted an abandoned vehicle on the side of the road, and the two men climbed into it, Nathaniel riding shotgun next to him. _Barry, Alice. Hold on. I'm coming. _

* * *

Dean's vision was completely blurred, even with the hood over his head. He felt as if he were being burned from the inside out. The cobra toxin was acting fast. It was only a matter of time before paralysis would take effect and Scratch return and hopefully gave him the anti-venom in full. _He wants me alive, not dead. If he wanted to kill me, he wouldn't have semi-injected me with anti-venom. Dammit, I need to get out of here. _The cords binding him to the chair were unbearably tight, digging into his skin. The scarf in his mouth was just as taut and secure. He heard the familiar lyrics from _Smoke on the Water_; it was his cell phone ringing. Scratch must have charged it while he was unconscious. It had to be Sam calling, and he prayed that his brother wouldn't come for him, but he knew he would, and Scratch would kill him without a second thought. Frantically, he began to tug at the cables binding him to the chair. It was going to be a while before—if—they loosened enough for him to get out of here.

It was near impossible to concentrate through the pain emerging from the venom. He could scarcely breathe; combined with the gag in his mouth and hood over his head and the poison, he was certain he was going to lose consciousness within a matter of minutes. There was the sound of the door clicking open, and he swore to himself.

"Guess whose back?" Scratch heralded, slamming the door behind him. "Don't worry, buddy, I don't need you dead just yet." He tore the hood off Dean's head and patted his cheek with three sharp slaps. Dean's hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. His ringtone rang out once again, and Scratch grabbed it from the bedside table. He smiled cunningly as he looked at the caller ID. A pit formed in his stomach.

"Who's Sam?" he asked quizzically, ignoring Dean's angry growl at the mention of his brother. "No, don't spoil the surprise. Hold on—I want to do something with you, but I don't want you dead." He reached for a needle, dripping with fluid, before digging it into his neck. "You should be thanking me, Dean. If I'd given you the venom alone, you would be dead and gone by now. The king cobra offers the best venom the world can offer. It's swift, worthy of an A+ in afflicting pain, and gives a slow, agonizingly painful death. You know, how I like to kill people." Scratch tapped the screen of Dean's phone a few times. "Aha, just what I wanted." He went behind him and poked his head over his shoulder, a mad grin on his face, aiming the camera towards himself and Dean. "Say hi to Sammy, Dean!" he said. "Sam, Sammy…it's a pleasure to get to talk to you. I'm sure you don't mind me using Dean's phone to send this to you. He is a real fucking pain in my ass. I'm surprised that I haven't killed him yet." He chuckled. Scratch cocked his head slightly before moving so he was in front of Dean.

"_Mmmmmph, mmmmph, mmmph, mmmmph, mmmph, mmmmph_!"

"If things were different," he went on, "I wouldn't be this generous. I would be bathing myself in this town's blood, but the boss is swinging again, so I'll let it do the work. I'm sure you're wondering who I am, and why I'm doing this. I'm Alan Wake, and I'm just raising a little hell. The party's already started; I'm just one of the party planners." He stopped recording before sending the video and setting the phone down. "Now, Dean, before you get your shit all in a bunch, let me tell you this. When Sammy gets here, don't be surprised if a little blood is spilt." Dean was furious; he was seeing red. Taking him was one thing, but threatening Sam's life? The gag smothered his shouts, his threats. He would kill Scratch himself if he ever touched his little brother. Right now, killing this bastard was the first thing on his to-do list. "Right now, all we can do is wait for him to come…and then we'll see."

* * *

The plan was to go to the power plant. Rose wasn't safe anywhere; according to Sheriff Breaker, it was best for her if she stayed with Cynthia Weaver, who had apparently been fighting the Dark Presence for decades, until this all ended. The Impala wasn't far behind her vehicle as they sped down the road. Sam found himself hoping Cynthia could help them fight the Dark Presence; if anyone knew anything about it, it'd be her since Alan was out of the cards. She'd been the one to give Alan the Clicker; she had to know something. They couldn't fight this war alone, and they were already running out of options. His phone suddenly went off; it was a text message from Dean. A sense of relief flooded through him. Dean was okay. He was surprised to see that it was a video message, and he pressed play. What he saw instead sent a surge of rage coursing through him. Dean was bound to a chair and gagged, and a crazed man smiled at the camera.

"Say hi to Sammy, Dean!" he exclaimed. "Sam, Sammy…it's a pleasure to get to talk to you. I'm sure you don't mind me using Dean's phone to send this to you. He is a real fucking pain in my ass. I'm surprised that I haven't killed him yet." The madman glanced back towards Dean, his grunts muffled by the gag. "If things were different, I wouldn't be this generous. I would be bathing myself in this town's blood, but the boss is swinging again, so I'll let it do the work. I'm sure you're wondering who I am, and why I'm doing this. I'm Alan Wake, and I'm just raising a little hell. The party's already started; I'm just one of the party planners." The video ended, and Sam gritted his teeth in anger.

"DAMMIT!" he cursed. He dialed Sheriff Breaker, and she answered after the first ring.

"What is it, Sam?" she asked.

"Dean's in trouble," he said. "Your friend Alan has him. You neglected to mention the fact that he is a crazy, psychopathic serial killer." Venom dripped into his voice at the mention of Alan.

"Sam, that wasn't really Alan," Barry interjected. "He attacked me and Sarah in the woods after we stumbled upon your brother. Al's been missing for over a year now, we told you." Sam threw his phone onto his lap, turning it onto speaker mode, before reversing the car and turning back around. His gut was screaming at him that this was an elaborate trap, but he didn't care. It was Dean. His GPS signal claimed that he was at the Majestic Motel.

The drive to the motel was relatively short since Sam was speeding. Sheriff Breaker had agreed to rendezvous with him at the power plant; she was wary of Alan's doppelganger, and with good reason. He was a supernatural, crazed, sadistic killer, and who the hell knew how many people had died at his hand? Sam didn't understand why he wanted him, but if anyone was going to die, it'd be him. _You fuck with my brother, you die. _Right now was no exception. He finally pulled in to the parking lot, and he climbed out of the Impala, armed with his gun and flashlight. In the video, Bizarro-Alan had neglected to mention what room he was holding Dean in.

_Looks like I'll have to do this the old fashioned way, _Sam mused. He kicked open each of the doors, and was about to kick open another when he heard the sound of laughter and stifled shouts coming from one of the rooms. Through the window, he saw Alan's double wave a needle about as he rambled on without end. Dean was tied to a chair, a bag over his head, fighting the cables that bound him. Rage pumped through Sam's veins, and without another thought, he kicked the door open. He aimed his weapon at Bizarro-Alan.

"I'm here," Sam growled. "What the fuck do you want, and who the fuck are you?" The madman smiled innocently at him, clearly delighted by his fury.

"I'm Alan Wake—but I take it you know that's not quite true," he said mockingly. "I'm Mr. Scratch." He sighed, rubbing Dean's head. "Dean here, he's just insurance. Isn't that right?"

"Mmmph, mmmph!" Scratch smirked, patting his cheek with three sharp slaps. "Mmmph!"

"Fun fact: Big Daddy knows you two are fighting him. Much thanks to the greatness of how darkness works, I'm back and better than ever," he went on. "I'm just here to bring more fun."

"Release my brother," Sam spat.

"No can do," said Scratch. "I'm not that much of a dipshit." Shadows oozed into the room, swirling about him. A faint tremor shook the ground. Darkness emitted itself from Scratch's palms, and Sam pulled the trigger. He flew backwards, knocking the door off its hinges. Dean was yelling, his cries strangled by his gag. Scratch loomed over him, prepared to deliver another blow. Sam pointed the beam of his flashlight directly in his eyes, and he began shrieking in agony. _He's no Taken, but light harms him just the same. _Sam fired once more; the bullets lodged themselves in Scratch's face as a shield of darkness engulfed him. Rage twisting his features, Scratch willed an axe into his hand and brought it downwards towards Sam. Blood splattered Scratch's face, and he threw his head back and laughed.


	13. The Lady of the Light

When the axe came down on Sam, Dean screamed. His brother's blood garnished the room; Scratch was laughing like a madman. While he hadn't seen Scratch bludgeon his brother, he'd heard everything. He'd heard the brief brawl between the two of them, and he'd heard his blood splatter across the room. _Oh God, please no. No, no, no, no! _Scratch removed the hood from his head; he was beaming, glowing.

"What'd I tell you, buddy?" he said. "I told you blood would be spilled." He burst into laughter all over again. Tears of horror and rage blurred Dean's vision, his breaths ragged and shallow. A wave of nausea swept over him just from the sight of Sam's bloody corpse. Howling through the gag, he could only watch as Scratch dislodged the axe from his body, only to bring it down on him again and again and again. When he finally finished mutilating Sam, he tossed the axe to the side. He pointed aggressively towards him.

"Do you see that?" Scratch yelled. "I did that! _I _killed your brother_. I_ butchered him like a pig. I don't see why I shouldn't kill you next—but I don't want to put you out of your misery. I'm not giving you a mercy-killing, because you see, next to physical pain, I love emotional pain. Physical wounds heal, but emotional wounds stay with you longer. You remember what I said about you being insurance? Well, you ensured that little Sammy would come to me. You led him to his death, and you're going to live with that knowledge." He snapped his fingers, vanishing in a cloud of darkness. The cords binding Dean to the chair instantly loosened. Frantically, his hands shaking, he untied himself, yanking the gag out of his mouth. He collapsed by his brother's body, tears running freely from his eyes. He took a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to regain his composure, but anger took over. With a furious roar, he grabbed the axe on the floor and smashed the windows and the walls, choking on his sobs.

"FUCK!" he roared. "FUCK, FUCK, _FUCK_!" He wasn't sure how long he went on, but after several moments, exhaustion washed over him and he dropped the axe, leaning against the wall. A part of him wished Scratch had killed him, and another wanted nothing more than to see the bastard bleed. He ran a hand over his face, wiping away some of the tears, but the tears just kept coming. A blinding light suddenly filled the room. Dean shielded his eyes. _What the hell? _

_Mr. Scratch is an entity created by the Dark Presence. He was never supposed to be like this. He was never supposed to be what he is today. _

"Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you here?" Dean spat. "Get the fucking hell out!"

_My name is Thomas Zane. I appeared to you and Sam in a dream to warn you, _the entity said. _I'm sorry. Your brother's death…it was never supposed to happen. That's not how the story goes. _Dean knelt by his brother's side, looking up towards Zane.

"Then why in the hell did he die, if that's not how the story goes?" he demanded. He shook his head; he could feel the rest of his composure slipping away.

_Reality and dream flow together as one in this town, _said Zane. _The Dark Presence makes works of art come true. It used a painting, but it seems it is using another piece of work simultaneously. _The light presence descended downwards towards Sam, and touched him. _I can't stay here much longer, Dean. Remember what I told you. _The light dimmed, before vanishing entirely, leaving Dean alone with his brother. Sam jolted upright suddenly, taking in deep breaths of oxygen. Dean pulled him into his arms, clinging to him, holding him as close to his chest as he possibly could. He let out a shaky sigh of relief.

_Fucking Christ…that was too close. Too fucking close, _he thought to himself. He felt Sam return his embrace, breathing deeply, and for a few brief moments, they just held one another. Dean broke the hug, and they rose to their feet. He studied his brother; there was no sign he'd even been killed, save for the bloodstains on his shirt.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam asked. Dean let out a dry snort, wiping his tears off his face.

"I am now," he said. "Jesus, Sammy, don't pull stunts like that on me again. How the hell did you make it out of the police station, anyway?"

"I jumped out the window," his younger brother explained. "I've been trying to find you ever since." He paused. "Wait, what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"The last thing I remember is Scratch's axe coming down on me," he said. "Then, boom. I black out." Dean knew there was no point in lying to him. He'd learn the truth one way or another.

"Scratch killed you, Sam," Dean told him. "He fucking killed you right in front of me." Sam's brow furrowed, but then he noticed the blood on the walls.

"Did you bring me back, Dean?" he asked. "Don't tell me you made another damned deal."

Dean shook his head. "No. A light presence…Thomas Zane, whoever the hell that is, appeared and brought you back. He said that you weren't supposed to die, and that it wasn't how the story goes. I don't know where Scratch went, but I swear to god, the next time I see the bastard I'll kill him." He sighed. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

Sam glanced over at his brother as they drove to the power plant. Dean was furious; his jaw was clenched, and he looked only at the road. He wasn't sure if he was angry with him for doing what he'd had to do—shoving him out the door during the Dark Presence's attack on the sheriff station and going after him upon receiving Scratch's video message—or if he was angry with Scratch for murdering him.

"You okay, Dean?" he asked. "And for the love of god, don't say you're fine."

"If you really want to know," Dean said, "I'm…god, the bastard killed you right in front of me, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it since he had me tied to a fucking chair!" He shook his head. "Never mind, Sammy. That bastard's going to get it, eventually. We've bigger fish to fry."

Sam laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, the war between Light and Dark. I guess Scratch is only a mere servant of the darkness."

"It doesn't really matter now," Dean said. "The Dark Presence has apparently bumped up the apocalypse ahead of schedule."

"I know. Barry told me," Sam informed him. "Just when I thought this thing couldn't get worse. We were on our way to the power plant before I got side-tracked."

"The power plant?" the elder Winchester asked. "What's at the power plant that's of import?"

"A woman named Cynthia Weaver lives there," he explained. "She's been fighting this thing for decades. If anyone knows how to deal with this, it's her. Since Alan's gone—"

"He's not dead," Dean interjected.

"What do you mean 'he's not dead'?" Sam questioned. "He's been missing for over a year now."

"When Scratch kept me holed up in that room, he told me that Alan's alive, but trapped at the bottom of Cauldron Lake," his brother said. "I'm thinking that the lake…it's the home of the Dark Presence. Home, prison, whatever the hell you want to call it. I think the Dark Presence has been just lurking down there, just waiting for someone to pop the latch. The painting that Barry mentioned back at the station before we got separated, that's the key."

"This dark place…Dean, we aren't dealing with the Cage," said the younger Winchester. He knew where Dean's mind was headed, and he didn't like it. They weren't dealing with the Devil. "I don't think destroying the painting is going to do us much good."

"Then tell me, what do you want to do?" Dean challenged. "Swan dive into the lake and get Alan's ass out of there?"

"Let's just talk this over with Sarah, Barry and Cynthia," he said. "We can't afford to fuck this up, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "No, we can't," he agreed. "This is much bigger than almost everything we've gone up against. We need to put an end to all of this, or else we can kiss this town—the world—goodbye."

* * *

Sarah pulled into the power plant's parking lot, and she and Barry climbed out of the car, Barry supporting an unsteady Rose. She prayed Sam and Dean were okay and were on their way. So many people had died, hundreds of thousands if not millions, both here in Bright Falls and all over the world. Too many lives lost, too many families torn apart by the Dark Presence's rage.

"Are you okay?" Barry asked her, breaking her reverie.

"I'm fine," she lied. "I—" She was interrupted when her cell phone started ringing, and she picked up after the first ring. "Who is this?"

"It's Dean." Sarah let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Thank God, Dean was alive. Was Sam with him? A part of her thought she knew, another afraid that he hadn't made it.

"Dean, I'm glad to hear you're okay," she said. "I was getting worried about you. You and Sam. Are you two alright?"

"We're okay," Dean assured her. "We're on our way to the power plant even as we speak. I trust you're already there?"

"Yes, we just arrived," she informed him. "Be careful out there. The Taken are everywhere."

"We will," he said. "See you in a few minutes." Dean cut the connection, and Barry glanced towards her.

"They're okay?" he asked, and she nodded.

"They're okay, and they're on their way. Come on, let's get inside." They entered the building, and were greeted by a blinding flash of light.

"Who's there?" Cynthia demanded.

"It's Sheriff Sarah Breaker!" Sarah said, "and Barry Wheeler. We…we need your help." The light dimmed, and for a brief few moments, they saw spots in their vision.

"I know," said Cynthia. "The darkness has returned, and nobody is safe."

"Do you know how we can drive it back?" Barry questioned. "Shit's going down out there, and I'm afraid it's only going to get worse."

"It is," she said. "That friend of yours…he put an end to the darkness before it got too strong."

"Cynthia, he's gone," Sarah told her. "He went to Cauldron Lake, and he hasn't been seen since." There was a solemn, almost knowing look in the elderly woman's eyes.

"That's because he can't return, Sheriff," she said. "He must have gotten himself trapped in the Dark Place beneath the lake."

"…Al's still alive?" Barry asked quietly.

"Maybe," said Cynthia. "The darkness won't let him out easily, if he has managed to survive down there."

"Cynthia, how do you know all this?" asked Sarah.

"I've been fighting the darkness for decades, Sheriff," she answered. "I—" The doors opened suddenly, cutting her off. Cynthia tensed, but Sarah quickly assured her, "They're friends of ours. Sam, Dean, is that you?"

"It's us!" Dean answered. Cynthia turned to the brothers, scrutinizing them through her gaze.

"You're Cynthia Weaver," said Sam. It wasn't a question.

"And you two are the ones Zane spoke of," she countered. "We've been waiting for you for a very long time, now."

"Zane?" asked the brothers in unison.

"Yes. Zane. Thomas Zane," she went on. "He's no more than an urban legend, a mere myth in this town, but he was real."

"Can you tell us about him?" Dean questioned.

"Thomas was…well, he was a poet back during our halcyon days in the 1970s," Cynthia began. "I was only 19 years old when he came here to Bright Falls. He was a handsome young man…your friend Mr. Wake, he resembles him so. Barbara Jagger was his downfall, the moment he met that woman."

"What do you mean she was his downfall?" pressed Sam. His brother remained silent, listening attentively.

"Thomas and Barbara fell in love within a short matter of time," she continued. "I saw the way they looked at each other…the way he looked at her. Ms. Jagger had an unfortunate accident; she drowned in the lake after deciding to go out for a swim. Although it took some convincing, Thomas did a foolish thing and wrote her back. What came to him was not his Barbara, not anymore. The darkness was using her as a vessel. With a knife, he cut out its heart out."

"But, how did he become the Light Presence?"

"He wrote himself out of existence before his last dive," she said. "Diver's Isle was destroyed in a volcanic eruption not too long after he disappeared. Mere collateral damage of his actions. He became the Light Presence after his last dive, I've come to believe—but his efforts weren't enough. The darkness rose again just last year, and Mr. Wake managed to drive it back. But it's reemerged, and naught is the same now. With every passing minute, I can feel the darkness growing stronger and the world is at its mercy. I've done all I can to prepare Bright Falls for the war, but there's nothing that I can do now. Thomas brought you forth as he did Mr. Wake; I pray that you can put a proper end to all of this before it's too late."

"We'll try," Dean said. "If I'm going down in this fight, I'm going down swinging."

"Don't be reckless, young man," Cynthia chided him. "It could very well get you killed out there. There have been enough casualties in this war. You can stay here for a while and get what you need, and then you need to leave. I've done my part."

"What're you doing to do now?" Sarah asked.

"I'm going to go underground," she answered. "It's not safe out there, and even this building is not immune to the darkness."

"Good luck," said Sarah, and Cynthia turned away from them and departed. She turned to the brothers. "Hope to hell you boys are ready," she told them, "because the war's just begun."

"Well then," Dean said. "This isn't the first war we've fought, and it certainly won't be the last. Whaddya say, Sammy? You ready to kill this son of a bitch and raise a little hell?"

"We've got work to do," responded Sam.


	14. Alan, Wake Up

Alan stole a glance towards his father. They hadn't spoken a word to one another since they'd hit the road. Even now, as they were working together, Alan couldn't bring himself to let go of his resentment towards the man. Nathaniel was no more than a figment of his imagination, but he felt real to him. Too real, but he was the only one who was able to help him get out of the Dark Place. He'd written him into the story. He had to trust him.

"Alan, son, when this all blows over and you get the hell out of here—" Nathaniel began. Alan vehemently shook his head. He didn't have time for his father's sentimental bullshit, not now. He was so close to escaping the Dark Place, and the last thing he wanted to cope with was any last wishes or whatever the hell he wanted.

"Stop, just stop!" exploded Alan, slamming the steering wheel in anger. "I don't know what part of my subconscious you are, but just fucking _stop_! You turned your back on me! On me and Mom!"

"You're angry."

"No fucking shit!" he snapped. "The only reason I'm trusting you is that you can help me escape and get back home." Alan tried putting a clamp on his temper, but he found he was sick of bottling up his bitterness towards the man. He was even beginning to regret putting him in the story, but it was too late now. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. The man was his only chance of getting back home.

"Alan, wake up," said Nathaniel calmly. "I am indeed a part of your subconscious. You wrote yourself an ally, but your mind has been at war with itself. I am merely a manifestation of your innermost demons, not your father himself." Alan was about to respond when a man materialized in the middle of the road.

"Oh, shit!"

_You are a fool to think you could escape. I was trapped here for centuries, as you shall be. _A colossal tank dropped from nowhere, just barely missing them. _I have been granted the freedom I have longed for. _A train car fell, and Alan swerved, almost running himself off the road. It was then that he saw it. The body of Agent Nightingale, shrouded in darkness. The Dark Presence was using him as its host. _You have been a very naughty boy. _Nightingale vanished in the shadows, a black twister taking his place. Alan hit the gas, driving towards the storm.

"Alan, what the hell do you think you're doing?" shouted Nathaniel. "You're going to get yourself killed!" He wasn't listening. Cauldron Lake was close, and he couldn't afford to turn back now. He was taking a huge risk, but it was one he had to take. _Alice, I love you. _The tornado swept up their vehicle; Nathaniel was shouting various curses, but Alan barely heard him. He swung open the door, and jumped. The impact wasn't crushing, but he'd felt his wrist break upon collision with the pavement. _Dammit, that smarts. _The writer rose to his feet before taking off sprinting.

* * *

Time seemingly dragged on, until he finally saw the black waters of Cauldron Lake. To his shock, the cabin was already there. Had we willed it into existence without realizing it? _Dammit, Alan. _He had no time to question the matter. Alan burst into the cabin, rushing upstairs to the study. He was immediately blinded by a white light; Zane was here. He could hear his breathing through his oxygen tank on his diving suit, and faintly see him.

_I've come to protect you from the darkness, _said Zane._ It knows you are trying to escape. I am here to protect you while you get out of here, but I can only fight it for so long. _Alan nodded in acknowledgement. Zane had appeared to him before in the Dark Place, but never before did he need his presence as much as he did now. He had burned away the darkness' touch when he'd been manipulated into writing _Departure _so it could be free, only to be plunged into a more horrible nightmare. Alan had barely made another thought when he felt the cabin shake, and a flood of darkness rushed into the room. The Dark Presence and Zane's light collided in a bright flash of light, pushing and pulling at each other. It was a stunning, but terrifying, sight.

Alan saw the broken rail from where he'd seen the Dark Presence dragging Alice down into the Dark Place. That had to be his escape. Without another thought, he took a deep breath and jumped.

**End **

* * *

Sam, Dean and Alan's journey into the night will continue...

Stay tuned for the sequel _No Light, No Light_!


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